


The Prince

by VoidEntity999



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (that's an actual quote from Maurice but very applicable to this story), Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Angst, Assassination, Enemies to Lovers, Knives, M/M, Not!Italy, Pining, Royalty, he was handsome as he threatened, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidEntity999/pseuds/VoidEntity999
Summary: Les Amis turn to direct action to solve the nation's ills, and a botched assassination attempt leads to Enjolras crossing paths with a mysterious prince. But perhaps they have some common goals?
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

A cool breeze threaded through the night air, weaving in between the dense architecture of the city streets, emptying into the spacious skyway that was cleared by river separating "us", the common people from "them", the royal family, carefully tucked away in their palace on the other side of the embankment, surrounded on all other sides by heavy fortifications.

It was dark when three men dressed in black rowed a small boat to the base of the the of the outer wall, docking at its foot and unloading rope. 

"Go, go, the guards have left rotation and won't be back for awhile."

"You're sure of it?"

"Yes."

At the pause of uncertainty, he added, "I've done my homework, Enjolras. I'm sure of it."

Enjolras nodded, or he hoped the other two silhouettes accompanying him could see him nodding in the dark.

"Right then. Courf?"

The two of them worked to throw the rope, a hook on its end grappling at the nearest open window. Here at the corner of the fortress, Courfeyrac held the rope steady as Enjolras scaled the tower-like section of the building. 

The window led into a small sitting room. Once he reached its interior, he gingerly made his way down from the open window onto a desk. One more step, and he slipped on one of the loose books that cluttered its surface. Scrambling to get his bearings, he remained lying on the floor, his heart beating wildly in his chest. As far as he could tell, he could hear no movement in the other room. He calmed himself. Once he found his way to his feet, he drew his dagger and carefully made his way to the other side of the room. 

A few candelabras were lit in the corners of the bedroom, and a tall canopied bed imposed against the far wall. Through the sheer curtains, he saw the uneven outline marking the surface of the bed. He bit his lip, realising his task. Here he was; the fate of the people rested in his hands. Gathering his composure, he approached the bed and slowly pulled back the canopy, and--

It was empty. The bed was empty. The mass he had thought to be a sleeping body was merely a few pillows scattered around a quilt that had been pulled back, clearly exposing empty sheets. 

"Looking for someone?"

Enjolras jumped at the voice, turning around and immediately readying his blade. 

Before him stood a man about his age. He could have as well been also a student if it weren't for the intricately woven night robe that he was so casually draped in, fastened with a belt of silver thread. His dark brown hair was in a disarray, and despite his tired affect, his eyes glimmered with a particular boyish mirth. 

Enjolras blinked, strengthening the grip of his weapon hand. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"So I'm not the person you're looking for." The man was calm. Amused, even.

Enjolras straightened his dagger arm, raising his chin in a stoic, threatening manner. "The queen. Tell me where she is."

"The queen?" 

He laughed. The man was laughing at him. 

"Well you'll certainly not find her in the most exposed apartment in the whole palace," he continued. "Right on the river. There's an escape passage that leads straight to the water."

Enjolras frowned. "There is?"

The man took up a candelabra and moved to the other side of the room. Between the paintings on the wall, the man demonstrated opening the false panel, revealing the hidden passageway behind it. Enjolras watched him silently.

He pulled it shut with a click. "And besides, the queen? I can hardly even get an audience with her. You thought you would be able to just drop in while she's sleeping?"

Enjolras didn't answer.

"I shouldn't let you live," Enjolras finally remarked, keeping the blade steady. "You're a witness." He watched the man's complete lack of concern for his own safety. "Aren't you, aren't you worried? You're unarmed."

The next thing he knew, his hand was flexing in pain, the knife clattering to the floor. In the blink of an eye, the man had expertly thrown a kick to the side of Enjolras' fist.

"I'm unarmed?" The man replied in a cutting sarcasm. "I suppose now neither are you."

Enjolras blinked, utterly unsure what to say.

"You seem incapable of holding a blade, much less killing anyone." The man retrieved the dagger from the floor and slowly approached him. "Here," he said, siding up to Enjolras and gently pressing the handle into his palm. He didn't protest as he felt the man's broad fingers slide around his. "The grip is what's most important. You want all your fingers firmly gripping the handle. Here, start with your index and middle finger to make a steady platform, and then you want the thumb curled around them and your ring and middle finger squeezing toward the thumb. There," he said, once Enjolras' hand was securely gripping the weapon. "You're at least holding it properly now."

He gently extended Enjolras' arm, pointing the blade at his own neck. "Go ahead, do what you came here to do."

Enjolras stood still, watching the candlelight flicker in his eyes. He wasn't sure whether the man seriously meant for him to make an attempt. "I don't want to kill you," said Enjolras, lowering the weapon. "I'm not even sure what it would achieve."

"Well, that's a relief." The man smiled. "Although I'm not sure what good you thought would be brought by assassinating the queen in a time when the people already face so much uncertainty."

"She must answer for her crimes," Enjolras replied, his expression darkening. His gaze followed the man as he casually moved to sit at the foot of, well, what must be his bed. From a nearby table he procured a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. "The people need justice. They need hope for a better future."

"Would you like some?" the man asked, offering another glass. "I'd love to hear more about this 'better future' you seem to think is possible."

"Are you going to tell me your name first?" Enjolras asked, his expression hardened.

"Are you going to tell me yours?" The man watched him for a moment, and his smile faded. "Fine. It's Grantaire."

"Grantaire," Enjolras repeated. "I would like to know how you think our current reality is best when there are mothers and children starving, a countryside ravaged by plague, citizens who work tirelessly in harsh conditions all while the royal family stays locked up in their ivory chambers?"

"The royal family?" asked Grantaire, leaning back and sipping from his goblet. "And what do you know of them?"

"I know how Queen Thenardier ascended to the throne after her husband died. Not that he was much better. How she avoided having any direct heirs so she would be the clear choice for the throne. Of course someone focused on their own interests would divert resources away from the people who need them."

"But shouldn't the queen have access to the most? After all, she is the queen. The first citizen. She needs the money to fund programs that benefit the people." Enjolras honestly couldn't tell whether or not he was joking.

"Programs such as building monuments to herself and playing politics abroad," Enjolras countered, "hardly constitute as 'benefiting the people'."

"It's simply her right," Grantaire replied, and Enjolras felt aggravated from his clever smirk. "But even so, what would killing her achieve?"

"With no heirs apparent, the state would be at a loss to transfer power. Her absence could trigger a redistribution of wealth and power, maybe not a perfect one, but it's our only chance."

"How do you know there's no line of succession waiting after her?" remarked Grantaire. "How do you know it wouldn't extend to a distant cousin whom the people don't know or for whom they care, leaving an even further-detached monarch in charge of the country?"

"Well," Enjolras began. 

***

Enjolras didn't remember how long the conversation had lasted. He had paced up and down the room, arguing with this man who saw no end of playing devil's advocate, it seemed. It caught him off guard when he heard the familiar bird call in the distance.

Enjolras jumped up. "Courfeyrac," he muttered under his breath. He ran to the other room and climbed up to the window sill, where he could hear his friend giving the warning signal from the waters below. 

"You came in through the window?" Grantaire remarked doubtfully as he wandered into the room after him. "I knew I should have closed that."

"There's no time, I need to leave." Enjolras turned to face him. "Unless you're ready to call the guards on me."

Grantaire's face was blank at first, unreadable. But then, a grin. "Why would I do that? Your presence has been utterly entertaining."

Enjolras pursed his lips. "Right, well I'll be leaving then."

Grantaire watched him check the grip of the grappling hook, which slipped easily at the slightest provocation. "You can take the escape passage, you know."

Enjolras looked up. Grantaire's expression was serious, well, as far as he could tell. He remembered the demonstration from earlier. He lifted a hand to release the hook from the ledge. "Alright, would you care to point it out to me again?"

Grantaire took him to the false panel. "Here," he said, handing him a candle to light his way down the dark tunnel. "Like I said, straight to the water. It's impossible to get lost."

"Thank you," Enjolras remarked gratefully. Although, he had to remind himself this man might as well be planning to put out a wanted poster for an assassin matching his appearance the next day. 

"Good luck," were the other man's final words to him, closing the panel behind him. 

Enjolras descended the stairs that wrapped around the corner of the tower, and true to Grantaire's word, exited a door into tunnel ending in a partially submerged grate, the river reflecting moonlight on the other side. 

He dove beneath it, and once submerged on the other side, he could make out his accomplices, waiting at the base of the fortress in their boat. 

"Hey!" he called quietly across the water, which was met with an uncertain "Enjolras?"

Once he was reunited with the boat, Courfeyrac and Combeferre collectively pulled him in. 

"We need to leave, now," Combeferre urged. "Did you...the queen, does she still...?"

"She wasn't there," answered Enjolras, eyes flitting to the window above. He saw a pair of hands reach and close the window, and quickly looked away, hoping the others wouldn't notice. "We should leave before we're noticed."

"Sounds good, Chief," replied Coufeyrac, and the two of them assembled the oars to begin paddling away. 

As they gained some distance from the tower, Enjolras couldn't help and glance back at the closed window in the moonlight, wondering if Grantaire was already soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. Do you ever experience the feeling where you can't sleep because your head is swimming with thoughts for a fic? That's how I ended up staying up until 5am the other night, finally writing down an outline of this story. All you need to know is I have several chapters planned. No idea when I'm going to update, but there WILL be updates at some point. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it so far. Feel free to leave me a comment with all your scathing constructive criticism, lol


	2. Chapter 2

A few clouds hung in a bright blue sky as Grantaire took a protective stance on the grass, readying for another sparring match with his trainer. 

"Ready? Fight!"

He managed to dodge the first blow, but a second caught him off guard and he was quickly pinned. 

"That was the quickest I think I've ever seen you fall," said Bahorel, standing up and offering him a hand.

Grantaire preferred not to answer, just accepted a towel from his servant, and then dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. "It's just not my day."

"Seems like it," said Bahorel, pouring himself a glass of wine from a nearby cart. "A little bird told me you fell asleep in court this morning."

"True, but those sessions always bore me to tears," Grantaire admitted. He sat down on a paved step to tie on his shoes. "To be honest, I couldn't sleep last night."

"Well, care to share?" said Bahorel, handing him a small glass. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Grantaire accepted the gesture, and then eyed his servants warily, a sign they recognised as time to leave him.

"A man came to my chambers."

"What?" Bahorel couldn't help but laugh as he sat down next to the royal. "A man you didn't invite? I'm assuming he was at least good looking."

Grantaire gave a humorless grin, still staring out across the garden. "He was very handsome. He was going to kill me."

Bahorel gave a laugh. "You can't be serious, R. An assassin?"

Grantaire just gave the mildest smirk and took a sip of wine. 

"So what happened? You're still upright, so I assume you were able to defend yourself."

"Oh, yes," said Grantaire, kicking at a small pebble with his shoe. "He was was so hopeless, 'Rel. Could barely hold a blade, his hands were shaking the entire time. But we got to talking, and..." Grantaire shook his head. 

"Come on," said Bahorel with a grin. He gave Grantaire's arm a nudge. "You've got to give me more details than that. What happened?"

"Nothing!" Grantaire gave his arm a playful push. "He left, and then...well that's why I couldn't sleep, I just kept thinking about him."

Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Only you could fall in love with your assassin. So what's he look like?"

"Like...sunlight." Grantaire frowned. "At least what I could see in the dark."

"So you're saying he's very handsome, but you could hardly see him."

"Yes."

Bahorel's palm went flying to his own face. "I would tell you good luck if you see him again, but we would all be better off if you never saw him again." He shook his head. "An assassin in the castle. I assume you don't want your mother to know?"

"Of course not." Grantaire frowned, kicking at another pebble. "Who knows what she'd do. I'd lose the last of my remaining freedoms, that's for sure."

Bahorel laughed. "I imagine so. Your secret's safe with me."

Just then, the two of them looked up to see a servant hurrying up the main pathway.

"Your Grace, your presence has been requested in the war room."

"Tell them I'm taking lunch for another hour."

"Javert said to come immediately, Your Grace."

Grantaire gave Bahorel a glance that fully expressed his disdain for returning to business, but nonetheless rose to attend to the matter, not without taking his glass of wine. "I'll see you for practice tomorrow?"

Bahorel stood up and gave a quick bow. "Of course, _Your Grace_." 

Grantaire rolled his eyes and they exchanged a knowing grin before Grantaire began his trek back across the palace lawn.

***

Enjolras drew his breath as he reached the river's edge. The fishermen who lived along the west bank had all docked their boats or left for the night, at it was dark enough that even if there were the odd passerby, they wouldn't see him. 

Earlier that day, he had come by and spotted the mouth of the canal. He spent a great deal of effort memorising its location so that he could find it again in the dark. Now, he boarded his tiny boat and rowed towards it. 

***

The whole time he was climbing the stairs up the passageway, he was cursing himself, half in surprise that he had made it this far, half in fear of how wrong this could go. When he reached the end of the passage, met with a smooth wooden panel, he felt around in the dark for a release. He heard a click, and slowly, the door opened, and a cool, sweet smelling breeze flooded his senses as he entered the room. 

"Who's there?"

The door might not have opened as quietly as he thought. In the dark, he could see a silhouette of someone sitting up in bed. Enjolras' first thought was to conceal himself, but he instead ventured a response. 

"It's me."

Grantaire pulled back the sheer curtains to light a candle next to his bed. When his face was illuminated, Enjolras watched the recognition flicker past his eyes. 

"Oh, it is you, Apollo," he said calmly. Sitting up in bed, Enjolras could see he was naked from the waist up, and he tried to not think of how the rest of him looked. "Haven't you brought the rest of your little friends to come take care of me, Julius Caesar style?"

"I have some questions for you." Enjolras approached him, stopping a few feet from the side of the bed, feeling like any further would be too personal. He tilted his head.

"Apollo?"

In the candlelight, was that a hint of sheepishness that crossed Grantaire's face? "What am I to call you?" the man remarked. "You didn't tell me your name."

"I'll tell you my name if you answer more of my questions." 

Grantaire silently stared back at him for a moment, and then his chin dropped, a tiny smile hanging on the corner of his lips. "Alright, Apollo, allow me to make myself more presentable, first, and then I will answer your questions."

"Very well," said Enjolras, and it took another second of Grantaire's silence before he nodded, and turned away. "Right."

Behind him, he could hear Grantaire get out of bed to put on his robe. Something clattered to the floor, and Enjolras instinctively turned his head, but swiftly averted his gaze after accidentally catching a glimpse of the man's naked back. 

"Okay, you can look."

Enjolras turned to see the man standing quite close behind him, dressed and holding a candle to illuminate both of their faces. He suddenly realised he was shivering. 

"You're all wet," remarked Grantaire. "How did you--"

"I had to swim under the grate to get into the tunnel," said Enjolras, becoming aware of how cold he was. 

"Of course," answered Grantaire in understanding. "I'll fetch you a towel."

He looked around the room, and before Enjolras could object, took Enjolras by the elbow and led him to the study. 

"Wait here," he whispered, handing him the light source and shutting the door before

Enjolras could give a "But--"

In the study, he idly glanced around the room. The books he had knocked over the night before had been tidied, but the window had been left open. 

He picked up one of the books, and under the light of the candle, he read its title. " _Ab urbe condita_." Grantaire could read Latin, it seemed. 

The door sounded and he glanced up. Grantaire stood in his robe, holding out the finely threaded cloth. Enjolras hesitated before taking it, but was grateful to have it, to feel warm and dry again. 

"It's a nice night out," said Grantaire, his tone conversational more than anything, somehow breaking through the awkward tension. "The guards have left the corridor. If you'd like, we could move to the garden?"

Enjolras knew what Combeferre would say, that it was the perfect cover for an ambush.

"What's in the garden?"

"Nothing. Fresh air," Grantaire replied quietly. "If you'd like, we can remain in here."

He seemed earnest, as far as Enjolras could tell in the candlelight. "Very well," he said.

"Lead the way."

Enjolras knew the palace was expansive, but he had no idea the extent of the vast grounds it enclosed. An artificial lake. An intricate pattern of hedges which must have required daily care by dozens of workers. An orchard, which Grantaire led them towards.

"Are you hungry?" the man asked, reaching to pick a pear from the nearby tree, inspecting it carefully and inhaling its fragrance. "I don't know if people such as yourself can afford to keep fed."

"They can't, as a rule," replied Enjolras quite pointedly. His voice softened to add, "But I'm fine, thank you."

"Suit yourself," said Grantaire, leisurely taking a bite out of the fruit. "So what is it you came to ask?" he asked as they slowly strolled down the row of trees. The moon above looked to be full.

"For starters, who are you?"

"Aha," Grantaire answered, his mouth still full. He swallowed. "You should be curious. But I'm interested to see what your guesses are."

Enjolras clasped his hands behind his back in thought. "At first, I thought you must be a visiting royal, or a noble from the countryside, but you don't have an accent. But then you also mentioned about how if the queen were to die, she might be succeeded by a distant relative. You're that distant relative, aren't you?"

A laugh. "You're not far off."

"So what then?"

Grantaire sighed. "I'm the queen's nephew. Officially, anyway."

"Officially? And in reality?"

From the darkness, there was no answer.

"Are you next in line for the throne?"

Again, no answer.

Enjolras grew silent with thought. "That's why you let me escape, then. You wanted me to return so I could kill her for you--"

"Relax, Apollo, I don't want the throne."

"You keep calling me that," said Enjolras.

"Because you unearthed yourself out of nowhere." 

Enjolras stopped. In the distance, he could hear a nightingale's song. "Enjolras. My name is Enjolras."

"Enjolras," repeated the other man. Standing before him, he knelt and bowed his head.

"Maximus Grantaire, Crown Prince and heir to the throne, at your service."

Enjolras laughed at that. "We don't have a crown prince. The widow queen has no children to speak of."

"I knew you would be difficult," replied Grantaire, an amused tone in his voice. "It's the truth, but up to you whether or not you choose to believe it."

"Oh?" replied Enjolras, still unconvinced. "Then what am I to believe? That the queen has some secret son?"

"That twenty four years ago, the queen suffered a miscarriage," Grantaire explained. "But she didn't. She kept the child a secret so that no one would block her line to the throne, so she had me raised in secret, passing me off as a nephew with no royal lineage. So, now you're the first person outside the palace to stumble upon the royal family's highest conspiracy. Or I could be lying through my arse. Whichever you prefer."

Enjolras was astounded. He turned away, although in the dark, he didn't think Grantaire could read his expression. "If that's true--which I still highly doubt--that would mean you were meant to take the throne, not her."

"If she dies. Or do you think she would give it up so easily? After everything she's been through to obtain her position of power?"

No, of course she wouldn't, Enjolras thought to himself. Queen Thenardier was known to be ruthless. But before Enjolras could answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I heard something," Grantaire's voice whispered, and before Enjolras could ask, he felt himself being pulled behind the trunk of a tree, Grantaire's arm around his shoulders. 

On the other side of the tree, true to Grantaire's word, a voice called out. "Your Grace, are you alright?"

" _Guards_ ," Grantaire whispered to Enjolras before calling back, "I'm quite alright, just out for a stroll."

A pause. "Is someone with you?"

"No," answered Grantaire. "I sometimes talk to myself out loud when I'm deep in thought. I'm quite safe; you can return to your post."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the voice called back, followed by fading footsteps. 

Grantaire immediately let go of Enjolras, giving them some room. "Sorry about that. I think it's time we headed back."

Enjolras took a moment to gather his composure. "Agreed."

They returned to Grantaire's quarters without a word, and Enjolras could tell that the royal was practiced at sneaking out, his intuition for avoiding patrolling guards and the odd servant at near psychic ability. Once they were again behind closed doors, Enjolras felt himself exhale with relief. 

A few candles still burned in the corner of the room, and in the dim light, he could see Grantaire staring back at him. He was still only wearing his night robe, the only thing between them as they had been pressed up against each other only a few minutes ago. Enjolras shook the thought away and glanced around the room, trying to find something, anything to talk about. His eyes glanced upon the door to the study.

"I saw a couple of the books you were reading," he said. "I've been waiting for months to borrow a copy of Tacitus' _Annales_."

"You can borrow it if you want."

Enjolras shook his head. "It'll do neither of us any good after a bath in the river."

"I can have it sent to your address." Grantaire spoke without hesitation.

"No," said Enjolras. The meaning was clear--he didn't need someone with so much political power to know where he lived.

"I understand. Well, you can come back and read it."

Enjolras watched him shrug non-chalantly, as though he were suggesting something ordinary like they were to meet in a public marketplace or tavern. "I suppose it would be nice to read the book," he answered.

"There's a whole library, actually," Grantaire continued. "If you came back in the palace during the daytime, I could show it to you. We have a much more extensive selection from which to choose." 

A library. _The_ royal library. Enjolras lit up at the thought. "I would--of course, if it's no trouble."

Grantaire smiled. "It's no trouble at all. I can borrow you some of my servant's clothes, and no one will even notice you."

"If you think it would work," Enjolras replied. 

"I'm certain." Grantaire remarked. "You're welcome to sleep here, and I can show it to you first thing in the morning."

Enjolras hoped the other man couldn't see the blood drain from his face. "No, that's quite alright. I can return tomorrow, or--" He stopped himself, remembering the meeting. "The next day. I'll return the day after tomorrow." He placed a hand on the panel leading to the secret passage way. 

Grantaire watched him open it. 

"Thank you for your kindness," said Enjolras. "I promise I'll return soon."

Grantaire nodded. "Very well. I look forward to seeing you again, Apollo."

Enjolras frowned. "I told you, my name is Enjolras."

"I know," replied the other man, but at that point, he had already begun to walk back towards his bed. 

Without another word, Enjolras closed the hidden panel behind him and descended to the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! I told you I would update. No more regular activities, only staying up late to write fanfic. Thank you to everyone who left kudos, I wasn't expecting that and now my heart is so full <3
> 
> I've decided, based on the sum of my historic knowledge, this story takes place in Not Italy, if Rome had become monarchy and Nero's palace still stood during the Renaissance. That's all, see you soon with Chapter Three.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was beginning to set, but inside the inn Musain, the crowd was just beginning to come alive. A band played, bets were placed, and a hearty conversation was shared over glasses of house wine. And in the back room, a few students gathered to discuss the future of the nation. As their leader stood and spoke of the continuing hunger from economic downturn, he urged them not to lose hope.

"We have the power to displace the corrupt officials that run this country, and it's up to us to--"

"Come on, Enj, you've been at this for what, an hour?" called Joly. 

"Yeah," chimed in Bossuet. "Just get to the point. Aren't you going to tell us how the mission went?"

Enjolras grew silent, and exchanged glances with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, his two second-in-commands. Combeferre gave a stoic nod.

Enjolras sighed. "It was unsuccessful."

"Well, we can tell that," said Joly with a laugh. "I think we would have heard about the queen by now."

Enjolras pulled a chair to sit at a table at the front of the room, his expression losing its fervor. "The plan was insufficient. The palace is more expansive than any of us anticipated." He thought of the night before, walking along rows and rows of trees in the dark. "Much more expansive. And we didn't prepare enough for a successful infiltration given the security present."

Enjolras grew silent, but that didn't stop a murmur of voices to raise from his friends. 

"Well, how can we infiltrate it, then?" asked Feuilly, standing up from his chair. "There must be another way in that is more accessible--"

"We took the only route available," argued Combeferre. "You know the rest of the palace is walled off and regularly patrolled by guards."

"Then there must be another route," said Bossuet. 

"I know!" piped in Jehan. "We come to the front gates disguised as something. Entertainers, perhaps?"

"Right, as though a couple of fake lute players are going to get an audience with the queen," scoffed Bossuet. "She's not even in the country half the time."

Enjolras remembered what Grantaire had told him the night they met. I can barely get an audience with her. And this was more alarming knowing Grantaire's true identity--or so he claimed. "We won't be getting an audience with her, that's for sure."

"Well," sighed Joly. "It looks like that window was the only entrance we've got. You're sure we can't use it? Where does it lead, even?"

Enjolras grew silent, suddenly finding a very interesting spot to look at on the table in front of him. 

"Yeah, Enj," said Courfeyrac. "You haven't even told us what you saw there."

"Come on, Enj," prodded Joly. "You can tell us!"

By now everyone except Enjolras had left their seats and were crowding around him, eager for a response. 

"I've met someone," he said. "Someone who can help us, maybe."

"Really?" replied Combeferre with baffled interest. "Who?"

Enjolras thought quickly, thinking of Grantaire's plan to disguise him as--"A servant. He may be able to give us some insight."

"What?!" cried Courfeyrac, a smile blooming on his face. The others were similarly excited at the idea. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"It's sort of a delicate matter," said Enjolras. "I didn't want to draw attention to him."

"So when can we talk to him, this servant?" Bossuet wondered. 

"I don't see why this servant is so important," remarked Feuilly. "There must be hundreds of them in the castle. And why should this one be willing to talk to us?"

"He will," Enjolras replied with certainty. "At least, he's told me a few things." _Like that he's the Crown Prince._ "Like that he serves someone very important. 

"So what should we do?" asked Combeferre. "The three of us, we can arrange another meeting with him at the window, and--"

"No! No," Enjolras replied quickly, trying to regain his composure. "It's too risky for the three of us. I'll have to go alone."

"But how will you climb the window by yourself?"

"He's going to help me in," said Enjolras, glancing between them.

"He's going to help you?" remarked Combeferre. "You mean you've arranged to meet with him again?"

Enjolras pursed his lips. "Yes," he answered tersely.

Another cloud of whispers erupted among the group. 

"You have?" said Courfeyrac, leaning into the table. "When will you meet him?"

Enjolras shook his head. "I can't tell you, it's too risky." And when sounds of discouragement echoed, he added, "I know, I'd like to tell you all everything, but for now, it has to stay a secret. I'll let you in on the details as soon as I can. I don't even know what's going to happen, or if he'll even help us."

"You just said he'd be willing to talk to us," said Feuilly. 

"I know. I mean, I think he'll talk to us. I think he could be loyal to our cause, I just....I need to scope it out some more."

Combeferre placed an approving hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "The plan sounds good to me." 

"I agree," said Courfeyrac, addressing his fellow students. "If Enjolras thinks this is a lead, I say it's worth pursuing."

"Hear, hear!" replied Joly, and the rest of the friends followed in agreement.

***

It was midmorning as Enjolras boarded a boat in the harbor and rowed towards the secret entrance to Grantaire's tower. What surprised him, however, was that the metal grate that once covered the part of the tunnel above the water's surface was now raised so that he could bring his boat in closer. He tied it at the base of a small walkway leading to the secret door, where he spotted a wooden box. Approaching it, he could see there was a note attached--"For Enjolras" written in an elegant script. 

Inside he found what he recognised as a servant's clothes, a simple white shirt and pants accompanied by a red and black tunic vest, the royal family's colors. He put a simple black cap over his golden hair, and suddenly, he looked like he belonged at the castle.

Enjolras approached the door to Grantaire's chambers and thought to knock, but instead waited to listen for movement on the other side. When there was none, he slowly opened the panel into the sunlit room. 

The richness of the chamber became illuminated in the day, the walls hung with intricate tapestries and paintings. Every object in the room was ornate, from the candlesticks to the bedposts. He had had little time to take in his surroundings, however, when he heard the front door open. He thought to hide, but was relieve to see Grantaire, who seemed to be alone. 

"Enjolras! I'm so glad you could make it," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He let out a laugh. "You look perfect."

"And you as well," said Enjolras, glancing him once over. He was dressed in a green velvet tunic with ample amounts of white linen peeking through the sleeves. He looked like a proper royal. "Nice to see you dressed, for once."

Grantaire howled at that, his voice just a bit too loud for what Enjolras would imagine for a reserved member of the royal family. He smiled at Enjolras, his expression radiant. Tugging on Enjolras' arm, he said, "Come on, I have something to show you."

"The library?" asked Enjolras, stumbling a few steps under Grantaire's grasp.

"Later," said the prince. "For now, you're just in time for archery!"

***

The archery range was set up in yet another part of the palace lawn that Enjolras hadn't seen before. As they approached it, an man in a sensible leather tunic was setting out the weapons, and a few servants stood nearby, ready to supply arrows and refreshment. 

"Bahorel!" called Grantaire, and the other man looked up with a friendly expression. 

"Good morning," he replied, and they grasped each other's hands in greeting. Almost immediately, his eyes drifted to Enjolras. "And who's this?" he asked. "New servant?"

Luckily, the job of a servant wasn't to talk much. Grantaire put a hand on Enjolras' shoulder and explained, "Yes, this is Ultime, he was just sent to me this morning."

"Well," Bahorel said, turning to Enjolras with a grin, "Good luck, Ultime. You'll have your hands full with this one." 

Bahorel and Grantaire must be good friends, Enjolras noted. If someone were to say that about the queen in her presence, she'd probably order their head in a basket. 

"Shut up," Grantaire complained, elbowing Bahorel in the side, and did his smile look a bit bashful?

Grantaire caught Enjolras eyeing him, and it was too late for his plan not to get involved. "Actually," said the prince, placing his hand on Enjolras' shoulder yet again, "Ultime would like to try his hand at archery as well. I told him, why not?"

"A grand idea," remarked Bahorel. "I'll string another bow, then."

As he walked away, Enjolras turned to Grantaire with a darkened expression. "Ultime?" he hissed.

"I wouldn't want to give away your true identity, Apollo," Grantaire whispered back with a grin.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but quickly shook off his expression as Bahorel returned with some equipment. He addressed Grantaire first, giving him a few pieces including gloves. He then came to Enjolras and strung him a bow as promised. 

"It's taller than I am," Enjolras remarked, standing it upright next to him. 

"It's supposed to be," replied Bahorel. He pointed to the gloves Enjolras was holding. "And you'll want to wear those unless you want to slice your hand open."

"Understood," Enjolras replied, heeding his advice. 

Bahorel looked up. "Hey, R, do you need help stringing your bow?"

"No," the prince called back, looping an extra piece of rope around the tip of his bow. Laying it under his foot, he pulled upwards to string the bow in a simple, practiced motion.

Enjolras watched him silently, hardly noticing when Bahorel took the bow from him to demonstrate technique. 

"Ultime? Ultime!"

"Oh! Right," replied Enjolras, remembering his pseudonym.

"You'll want to hold it about here, and then hold this arm steady while pulling your elbow straight back." 

Enjolras watched as Bahorel showed the form, and then relaxed his posture to hand the bow and arrow back to him. "Now you try."

Enjolras nodded, thoughtfully attempting to repeat Bahorel's motion. 

"Let go!" he heard a voice to the side, but by the time he registered it as Grantaire's, his arms were already shaking under the force. He let go of the arrow and it left at an uneven angle, striking the ground only a few meters away. 

"You don't need to hold it that long," said Grantaire with a laugh. "Here," he said, staying in place to shoot an arrow towards Enjolras' target. It hit almost near the center.

"There," replied Grantaire, looking quite pleased. He pointed to the target. "Try shooting it there."

"Very funny," said Enjolras. 

"Showoff," remarked Bahorel with a grin.

One of the other servants handed Enjolras another arrow, and he took it with a quiet nod. This time, he followed the advice given, and managed to hit the outer ring of the target. 

"Good work!" remarked Bahorel, looking pleasantly surprised. "You're getting it."

Enjolras nodded, and then glanced over to Grantaire, who was concentrating on his target. Lifting his bow, he shot another arrow, missing the center by less than an inch. He readied his bow to shoot another, but paused when he realised he was being watched. 

"What?" said Grantaire, staring back at him blankly. He looked over to Enjolras' target to see the second arrow sticking out of it. "You got one?" 

Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire dropped his bow and practically galloped over to where he was standing to give him a strong pat on the back. 

"I knew you had it in you!" he beamed. 

"Thanks," Enjolras replied, hoping he wasn't blushing too noticeably.

***

On the way to the library, Grantaire brought Enjolras to the kitchens, located in the heart of the castle. As they descended into a warm room, Enjolras watched dozens of servants rushing around: kneading dough, cutting vegetables, stoking the many fireplaces. Someone who looked to be in charge approached them. 

"Good day, Your Grace. To what do I owe the honor?"

Grantaire gave a small bow back. "Good afternoon, Gibelotte. Could you have my dinner sent to my chambers today? I'm going to dine alone."

"Certainly, Your Grace," the woman replied.

Grantaire nodded, and then turned to leave up the stairs, but not before reaching into the racks of cooling bread loaves and snatching a small bun. "Come, Ultime," he said, ripping off a piece and stuffing it in his mouth. Enjolras took one last look at the kitchens and hastily followed him up the stairs. 

"Oh," said Grantaire in slight disappointment as they reached the upper corridor. "Were you hungry? Here," he said, holding out the rest.

"No thank you," said Enjolras, lifting a hand. "I already ate."

Grantaire just shrugged and tore off another bite. "Alright, I promised you a library, and a library we shall see."

***

As they entered the spacious hall, Enjolras couldn't help but gape in awe. A soft light flooded in through stain glass windows, illuminating rows of tall shelves, each ended by life sized marble statues portraying different scenes from mythology, likely a commission from one of the prominent sculptors of the time.

"Look, it's you," Grantaire said quietly, pointing his thumb towards the statue of Apollo with his bow and arrows. 

Enjolras looked up at the idealised representation of the male form. "If you say so."

"So does that make me Daphne?" Grantaire wondered aloud.

Enjolras remembered the story, how Eros shot Apollo with an arrow of gold, and the nymph Daphne with one of lead, causing Apollo to fall in love with her and Daphne to feel repulsed by him. "I'm not sure. You haven't turned into a tree yet," he responded dryly. 

"True," replied Grantaire with a laugh. "Perhaps she's in the orchard, and you neglected to mention we already met her the other night."

Enjolras smirked at the idea. "My parents always wanted me to find a girl. If only a tree would satisfy them instead."

Grantaire laughed too hard at that. It caught Enjolras off guard, seeing him so amused by something he didn't imagine Grantaire to understand. Or maybe he didn't.

" _You_ have trouble with ladies? I would think you could have any girl you wanted, Apollo," he said. "Or I imagine you probably scare them off."

"I don't have time for ladies," replied Enjolras, shaking his head. "I have other matters to focus my attention. What?" he said flatly, watching Grantaire lean against a bookshelf with his arms crossed, a tiny smirk resting on his lips. 

"Nothing. Let's find you these books, shall we?"

***

Enjolras was well impressed with the wide selection of the royal library, finding not only intricately handwritten editions, but ancient Roman scrolls he thought to be nonexistent. He left the library with a tall stack of books in his arms, only one of which Grantaire offered to carry. It did make them less suspicious in their guise as a royal and his servant.

When they reached Grantaire's chambers, the two guards outside held the doors open for them. While Enjolras walked straight through the foyer, Grantaire hung back to whisper to the guards, likely telling them he wished not to be disturbed.

Enjolras headed straight for the long empty table that he had seen standing in Grantaire's chambers, but when he saw it, his jaw dropped. "What is--"

"What's what?" asked Grantaire, returning beside him. "It's dinner."

Enjolras' mouth watered at the decadent feast that was laid out on the table. Roast pheasant. Loaves of bread. Bowls of perfectly ripe fruit. 

With no place to put the books, Enjolras disappeared into the bedroom, deciding to drop them on Grantaire's bed. When he returned, he had some things to say. "This is more food than most families can afford in a week," he began, looking to Grantaire incredulously. "And this is for one person for an evening?"

Grantaire shrugged, pouring himself some wine. "I don't normally finish all of it. The rest is fed to the hounds, I suppose."

Enjolras shook his head. "This isn't right. The people outside the palace are starving. How is this all for one person?"

"One important person," Grantaire corrected him, faking a pretentious tone. His face broke into a smile. "And now it's for two people."

Enjolras plopped down in one of the chairs and pushed himself away from the table, silently staring at the feast. 

"Come on, Apollo," said Grantaire, picking up a plate and beginning to help himself to some candied plums. "I haven't seen you eat all day. You might as well enjoy it while you're here."

It was then that Enjolras' stomach growled, betraying him. Grantaire grinned at him in satisfaction. 

"Fine," Enjolras relented. "Since it's already here. But this is wrong."

"I didn't say it wasn't," replied Grantaire, gingerly licking his fingers. 

Enjolras stood to gather himself a plate, taking a bit of everything. Regardless of the situation, he was curious to try some of the things he didn't recognise.

"So," said Grantaire, washing down his throat with a gulp of wine, "You must come from an educated background if you can read."

"I'm a law student," replied Enjolras. "But one doesn't have to come from a privileged background to be literate. My good friend Feuilly was orphaned at a young age and taught himself how to read."

Grantaire gave a gentle laugh. "I was just making conversation, Apollo."

Enjolras cast him a disapproving glare, which only seemed to entertain him further.

"Well, you seem very interested in social justice," he said, cutting into a pheasant breast. 

"It's something everyone should take some interest in," remarked Enjolras. "A few friends and I have a group we call the _Amici Veritatis_ [friends of truth] that meets regularly to discuss the injustices of the nation."

"Is this the same group that plotted to kill me?" asked Grantaire, his knuckles digging into his cheek as he leaned into the table with interest.

"We didn't know about you," Enjolras said quietly. "But yes. That's why I couldn't come yesterday; we had another meeting."

"Sounds like you do more than simply discuss politics."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

Grantaire shifted in his chair, swirling his wine glass in thought. "How did you get involved with that, anyway? Do you come from a line of councilmen?"

"Gods, no," replied Enjolras. "My father's a banker."

Grantaire chuckled. "Ah. I suppose that didn't interest you."

"It did not."

"Your family can't be hurting for money, then. A dinner such as this is probably commonplace at your family's villa."

Enjolras shot him an annoyed glance. He returned to focusing on his meal, and then concluded, "Not one quite this large."

After dinner, the two of them returned to Grantaire's bedroom to look at the mess of books Enjolras had previously left splayed across the bed. 

"It's important to know our history," he said, sitting down at the foot of Grantaire's bed and picking up one of the newer texts. "And I wish the common people were taught it as a rule. But if the state is in charge of the people's education, it creates too easy a way to abuse their lack of knowledge, only feed them the story that paints the state in a favourable light."

"What do you mean, Apollo?" replied Grantaire with a sly grin, pushing a few tomes aside to recline along the other side of his bed. "I personally can't think of a single time the state has done anything to harm anyone."

Enjolras shot him a sharp glance, ready to dispute him, but upon seeing his face, his anger was released. Something about Grantaire seemed to disarm him, rend his terrifying sense of conviction into tranquility. He breathed a smile. "You've got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Grantaire replied innocently. He sat up, leaning towards Enjolras with yet another facetious grin. "I've lived in this palace my whole life and I think I'd have a pretty good idea how the state treats its subjects."

"Grantaire."

"Yes? Do you have a problem, Apollo?"

"I've told you, that's not my name."

"Ultime, then."

Enjolras' expression sent Grantaire laughing hard, falling back onto the soft bedspread and clutching his stomach.

A warm feeling washed over Enjolras, watching him laugh so freely. If this man was really a prince, he wasn't at all what Enjolras expected.

"Grantaire," he said again, his voice softer this time. 

"Yes?"

Enjolras looked around at the books scattered on the bed. "I don't need to come here and read books anymore since you opened the grate by the river. I can just take some to borrow."

"True." Grantaire was still lying on his back, staring up at the bed's canopy.

"When I came this morning, I could have just asked for the books and left."

Grantaire paused, and then slowly sat up. "So why did you stay, then?"

Enjolras frowned. A few excuses came to mind: _because you insisted you show me archery, because I wanted to see more of the castle, because I couldn't let the feast go to waste_...but none of these felt like the exact reason. "I don't know."

A cold wind came in from the window, causing a gentle breeze to pass between them. They weren't sitting so far away from each other. Enjolras studied Grantaire, his dark hair pleasantly framing his face, which reflected both the warm orange light from the candles and the cool blue light of the night sky. He wasn't even aware what was happening when he saw that face draw closer, until their lips touched...

It lasted longer than it should have, the kiss. Their lips parted, and Grantaire stared back at him only a few seconds before moving in again.

"No! No." Enjolras pushed him away. "We can't. This can't happen."

He couldn't bear to face Grantaire's expression, those sad puppy eyes. "Why not?"

"Because." Enjolras gave a sigh, his gaze trained upon the floor. "You're a royal. And I'm trying to overthrow you. Your mother, anyway."

"Then leave her out of this," Grantaire pleaded. 

"It doesn't matter," replied Enjolras. "You're still a royal. We're enemies."

For once, Grantaire didn't argue. He didn't say anything at all. He just watched Enjolras, remaining painfully still.

Enjolras stood up. He felt jumpy, and standing up so quickly had made him lightheaded. "I have to go. It's getting late, anyway."

Grantaire nodded. Without another word, Enjolras turned away from him, searching for the panel in the wall. Upon finding it, he pulled the release that let it swing wide open. He didn't even look back at the prince before beginning his descent.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs in the dark, he heard the sound of the panel shutting behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time doing research for this chapter, started watching videos on the historical representation of archery in films and ended up at 2am finishing watching a video essay on everything wrong with the musical adaptation in the 2012 Les Mis film. You guys understand rite ;-;
> 
> I don't have a set schedule for updating but in the past I've usually done Sundays, by which I mean Monday morning at 1am. So expect to see me around that time next week. Maybe Enj and R will get over their angst for each other by then ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because I think this should be split in two chapters. Enjoy :)
> 
> EDIT: Changing Cosette's age so I can use her in a later chapter lol

When Grantaire awoke, the sky outside was an impressively gray shade of gray. He rolled over in bed, letting his arm hang limply off the other end. Thinking of the night before, he was absolutely depressed. Somehow he had managed to find the only person in the empire who didn't want to be with a prince. He rubbed his face and fell back asleep as though it were his new profession.

"Grantaire? Grantaire!" 

He woke to the angry sound of someone pounding on the door, a voice he had heard on many an occasion.

"Grantaire," Javert repeated, making the executive decision to enter the suite. "It's almost noon and--what's all this? Why haven't your servants come to clear this away?"

He was gesturing, presumably, to the long table of half-eaten dishes and dirty plates. The leftovers were probably starting to draw flies. 

"Mmmmph," replied Grantaire, speaking into his pillow. 

***

As Javert studied the table, he noticed that two chairs were pulled up next to each other, and before them, two empty plates. He paused for a moment, and then continued his swift pace into the bedroom.

***

Grantaire heard footsteps approach his bed.

"You'll want to get up right away," said Javert, and when he didn't move, the man shook the prince's shoulder. "Grantaire."

"What is it? What's so important?" Grantaire replied, sitting up and rubbing his eyes in a half-conscious state.

"The queen has requested your presence."

Grantaire's first thought was that it was a joke. "The queen? What would she want with me?"

Javert's face was stone cold. "I don't know. But regardless, you can't be late for her."

***

As Grantaire entered the corridor leading to the queen's study, he felt his stomach drop. If the palace was massive, certainly the most impressive quarters were reserved for the queen. Stopping in front of the intimidatingly tall double doors, which were flanked with guards on either side, Javert stopped him to fuss with his appearance yet again. 

"Stop," Grantaire muttered, finally shoving Javert's arms off as he tried to fix the part in the prince's hair. "Enough!"

Javert glared at him, but arrested his own efforts. He knocked on one of the doors. 

A servant answered the door. Javert straightened his posture to tower over them. 

"Tell Her Majesty that His Grace is here as she requested."

The servant nodded, and then disappeared back into to the room. A minute later, they returned, giving a single nod to Javert. 

The guards outside the doors moved to open them, and Grantaire stood still before the threshold, unable to move.

A stern push on his back from Javert remedied that. He took a few more steps and the doors were closed behind him in a foreboding thud. 

He carefully stepped through the foyer and into a grand room. Spacious windows let in light from the palace courtyard outside, although today, the overcast sky gave minimal illumination to the room. A single tall wingbacked chair faced the window. 

"Maximus," a voice called faintly from the other side of it. "Is that you?"

His tried to keep his composure, but his voice trembled slightly. "Y-yes, Your Majesty."

Queen Thenardier rose from her chair. Her taste in clothes was a bit gaudy, if one were to ask him, but it now wasn't the time to judge. As she saw him, her usually chilled complexion twitched into a smile that he had once wanted to believe was real, but in his heart knew was sincerely, sincerely fake. 

"Maxie," she said, striding towards him. "You've come to see me."

He knelt before her. "You requested my presence, Your Majesty."

"No," she said, reaching out to caress his chin with a gloved hand. Grantaire swallowed his discomfort. "You needn't use 'Your Majesty' around me anymore. From now on, you can call me mother."

Grantaire's expression did not change. "Yes, mother." 

"Maxie," she said again as he stood up. "It's so good to see you. You've grown so handsome. Why don't you sit down?"

Grantaire looked around the room, but her chair was the only one in sight. "There's nowhere else to sit, Your Ma--I mean mother," he replied.

"Oh," said the queen. She turned away and called, "COSETTE!" and almost immediately, a young woman came bringing a stool for him. 

The queen took a seat in her own chair, and Grantaire thanked the girl and sat down on the stool. 

"There's a reason I've asked for you, my only son," the queen continued. She glanced out the window at the garden below. A few royal gardeners were out tending the shrubs, which formed a complex design, and in the center stood an imposing statue of the queen herself, holding a torch, her dress flowing around her in a dynamic motion. 

The queen turned to him, that smile creeping again on her lips, making Grantaire feel apprehensive. "Today is an important day for you. I've decided I'm going to formally recognise you as my son. I'll still be queen, of course, but I think you deserve some acknowledgement during my rule."

Grantaire said nothing.

"I don't want to announce it to the public for some time," she continued. "I was thinking next winter, when the news is slow and the senate is bored. Perhaps a feast with all the highest ranking officials to celebrate us as Queen and Crown Prince would suffice. Regardless, I just wanted to let you know in advance."

"Thank you, mother," replied Grantaire.

"Yes," she said, her voice taking on a saccharine tone. "Don't you forget that. Mother cares for you."

Grantaire gave a solemn nod. 

"That is all," said the queen, turning away as her interest in him subsided. "You may go."

***

After the audience with his mother, Grantaire wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but unfortunately Javert had had other plans. First was lunch with a handful of foreign dignitaries whose names Grantaire could never keep straight, each talking over each other discussing whose vacation homes were more impressive. Then he had to sit in on the senate, which was endless talk of taxes and figures. 

The sky was about dark as he returned to his chambers, feeling mentally exhausted. Not even bothering to undress, he fell into bed face down. 

***   
It was beginning to rain as Enjolras made his way across the river. He docked at the hidden entrance, and made his way up to Grantaire's tower. 

When he reached the other side of the hidden panel, he held his hand up to knock, but just before his knuckles left the wood, he stopped himself.

_Am I really doing this?_ He ran through his reasoning, the thoughts that had consumed his mind for the past several hours. _Yes. I'm going to--no. Yes._ He knocked on the door.

He waited for a response, but none came. Again, he knocked, and he figured if a servant or someone other than Grantaire were in the room, they would make themselves known. He heard no answer, so slowly, he opened the false panel. 

The room was empty. Grantaire's bed was perfectly made, and there was no sign of the man. He himself was still damp from the rain, and wished to find something to dry himself off. He wandered about and found what must have been Grantaire's dressing room, where an opened trunk revealed a wealth of fine garments. 

He found the study again, and this time, the window was closed. On the desk, he found the books he had taken from the library yesterday--someone must have picked them up and carefully stacked them on the prince's desk. Just as he picked up _Annales_ , he suddenly heard the sound of the doors opening to the chamber. He quickly set down the book and rushed to hide behind to the doorway into the study, listening carefully for movement within. 

Footsteps. They came into the bedroom, and stopped before the bed. Hazarding a peek around the doorway, Enjolras saw Grantaire, sighing and collapsing onto the bed. 

He retreated behind the wall. Suddenly, his composure was gone, and he seriously needed to take a breath and figure out his next steps. 

It took about a minute for him to calm down, and by then, he still heard nothing from the main room. Peeking in again, he saw Grantaire hadn't moved, looking rather unconscious as he lay on top of the covers. Enjolras' apprehension melted, and he walked into the room, slowly approaching the sleeping prince. 

He stopped himself, watching him lie for a moment. The prince's dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks, his back rising and falling with his breath. 

"Grantaire," Enjolras said gently, but of course he didn't wake. He moved closer to shake the prince's shoulder. "Grantaire," he repeated.

The prince groaned and shoved his arm off. "Javert, I told you if you send me to any more--"

He hushed as their eyes met. Where his eyes previously hung bags, now they were wide open, fully awake. "Enjolras," he said, sitting up. His brow furrowed with confusion. "You came back. Why did you come back?"

"Y-yes," said Enjolras, and Grantaire stood, placing a hand on his arm. 

"You're shivering," said Grantaire, and Enjolras suddenly became aware of how much the rain had soaked through his clothes. "Why don't we sit down, and I'll send for some hot tea," said the prince. "We should talk."

Enjolras nodded.

Grantaire led him into the study, where there was a small sitting area with a table and plush chairs. He brought Enjolras a wool cloak, and Enjolras gratefully accepted it. Pulling it around his shoulders, he realised the question of why he hadn't thought to don a cloak before he went out in the first place. _I wasn't thinking at all, coming here._

A few minutes later, he heard Grantaire's voice in the other room, talking with someone. After a time, he returned carrying a tray with a teapot and two delicate teacups. 

"Thank you," said Enjolras, watching Grantaire pour him a cup and hand it to him. He was too overwhelmed even to laugh at the fact that a prince was serving him tea. 

Grantaire poured himself a cup and sat back, staring into it and contemplating silently. Outside, a soft rain pitter-pattered against the window. "First of all--"

"Why do you have this?" said Enjolras, referring to the cloak. He pursed his lips at the awkward outburst, then added, "I would have guessed you only had fine clothes." _Or I may have had a look into your wardrobe earlier._

Grantaire breathed a smile. "Of all the times you've come to visit me, Apollo, have you thought maybe I could escape out that same passage?"

Somehow, that hadn't crossed Enjolras' mind. 

"Well I haven't," Grantaire answered for him. "I can't swim."

That fact was surprising to Enjolras. He had seen Grantaire's keen skills in other athletic pursuits, so it was difficult to imagine him failing at anything else. Yes, the prince was perfect in every way, and it seemed impossible to imagine him not to be. 

Enjolras nodded slowly. His eyes focused on the floor, mostly, as he remarked, "Thank you. For showing me the library yesterday." His eyes flit up to meet Grantaire's a hair of a second, followed by a quick smile. 

"Of course," replied Grantaire. 

Another silence followed, and the royal shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"I'm sorry," said Grantaire, "about yesterday. I know my advances were unwanted, and I shouldn't have made you feel so uncomfortable."

Enjolras nearly spit out his tea. "What? No, they weren't unwanted, I just--" his gaze was caught on Grantaire's for a moment, and he glanced away. "They weren't. Unwanted, I mean. I liked it. The kiss."

Incredible. Of all the times he had stood giving speeches in front of crowds of people, and at the meetings for the _Amici_ , he wasn't sure he had ever been this poor at forming coherent sentences. 

"But we shouldn't be together," replied Grantaire, "because we're enemies."

Enjolras dropped his head, clutching at his brow with one hand in frustration. He set aside his teacup. "I didn't come here to argue with you, Grantaire! I only said that because I didn't want to admit that I liked kissing you very much, and I would very much like to do it again."

Grantaire grew silent at that. Enjolras was starting to regret his outburst, but then the prince laughed. "You want to kiss me."

Enjolras instantly felt warmer, and a smile crossed his lips. "Yes," he concluded. 

Grantaire smiled, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing in the world to Enjolras. 

"I want to kiss you, too, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded, and as he rose, Grantaire rose with him. Outside, the rain had intensified, and he heard a flash of lightning. He reached out a hand, and Grantaire took it, clasping it over his own shoulder. When Enjolras was too unsure to make the first move, Grantaire leaned in and gently kissed him on the cheek. Pulling away, their eyes met, and it was only natural that Enjolras' hands fell to the man's waist. Grantaire brushed a damp strand of hair past Enjolras' eyes, and it was then, finally, Enjolras had the courage to lean in and press his lips to Grantaire's.

It felt so good. He smelled so good, like lavender, and Grantaire must have thought the same because he was inhaling Enjolras like a rose. There was a moment when their legs touched, and he remembered why this was a bad idea.

Grantaire, must have sensed it too, but remained calm. "Go ahead," he whispered into Enjolras' ear. "Tell me what you want. I'll give you anything."

Enjolras closed his eyes because this wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to be _encouraging_ him for gods' sakes; he was supposed to have Enjolras arrested for treason, but instead he had been kind to him, shown him compassion, let him into his world...and Enjolras wanted him. Now he had no reason to deny how much he wanted Grantaire.

"I want you to take me," he whispered back. 

The other man stopped. After a moment, he pulled away, and Enjolras saw the look of confusion in his eyes. 

"Is that not..." Enjolras swallowed. "You said to tell you what I want."

"Just not what I expected to hear from you, Apollo." He gave a laugh. "But yes. If that is what you want, I'll gladly give it to you."

His hands fell to Enjolras' hips, and he gently led him back to the bedroom. At the foot of the bed, they slowly helped each other undress. Upon seeing Grantaire's naked form, his eyes grew wide, bringing his hands over the other man's musculature. His atheltic activities had certainly shaped him.

"Like what you see?" teased the prince. "I could say I'm not disappointed either, Apollo."

Enjolras felt his hand slide down his back, but it stopped. 

"Is this alright?" Grantaire asked softly, hesitantly. "Tell me where you want to be touched."

"Everywhere," he breathed, and Grantaire was beyond satisfied. He kissed him longingly, and slowly, Enjolras began to move back onto the bed, letting the prince stretch over him, blanketing him like the night sky, hands tracing down his body. 

When it was over, they found themselves in Grantaire's bed, naked bodies pressed together. Enjolras had crawled underneath the covers to lie down, and was surprised that when Grantaire came to join him, Enjolras felt him cuddle up next to him. He pulled his arms around Enjolras in an embrace one could only describe as _possessive_ , and he laid his head on Enjolras' chest. Enjolras just let him lie there, and Grantaire let him lie there in his arms, and he let Grantaire let him lie there. 

"Grantaire," he said, running a hand down the man's spine. "I never told you why I came back."

"Why did you come back?" he heard Grantaire's voice murmur sleepily into his chest. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

For a moment, the man's lips formed a smile, and then, Enjolras could tell he was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was spicy enough ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading so far, the next update should be out on Monday.


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras woke a few times in the night, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. But then he felt Grantaire beside him, the sound of his breath, and he remembered where he was. 

Finally, he woke when it was light. His eyes opened slowly, and he could no longer feel Grantaire on top of him. Instinctively, he patted his hand around on the bed beside him, as though it would undo the prince's absence.

He felt something, a hand taking his. Glancing over, he saw that Grantaire was lying there, watching him. 

"I'm right here, Apollo," said the prince, and he gently brought Enjolras' hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. 

Enjolras shifted onto his side, taking in the sight. The soft morning light, for the sun was shining again, drifted in through a nearby window, casting Grantaire in a warm glow. Naturally, Enjolras' eyes drifted down to his bare chest, and before he knew it, he had lifted up the covers to view the rest of him.

"Ah! Sorry!" he said, dropping the sheet once he realised what he was doing. 

Grantaire just laughed. "No, you don't need to apologise," he said. "In fact..."

Before Enjolras could object, Grantaire threw back his covers and stood up on his bed, putting every inch of himself on display for Enjolras to see. 

"Go ahead, you can look," he said, hanging one arm leisurely on the bedpost. "This is all for your viewing, now that we're lovers."

Enjolras covered his face with his hands, but at the same time, he couldn't keep from laughing like a schoolboy. 

"That is," Grantaire continued, sitting down beside him again, "if you want to be lovers."

Enjolras smiled. "Well, of course, if it's possible." 

Grantaire was satisfied at that, and leaned in to share a kiss with Enjolras, who gladly accepted it.

Enjolras sat up further, and without prompting, Grantaire moved to sit behind him, straddling him and holding him in his arms. He felt the princes' head rest on his shoulder. 

"I want to keep doing this," said Enjolras. He frowned. "I don't know how many more times I can visit you without getting caught."

He felt Grantaire's breath over his shoulder. Reaching around, he took Enjolras' hand. "No matter what happens, I promise I'll keep you safe, Apollo. Do you need to leave soon?"

"I can stay awhile," replied Enjolras. "What about you, don't you have important meetings to attend?"

"Not today." Grantaire brought Enjolras' hand to the side of his face, rubbing his cheek into it affectionately. "The only important meeting is this one."

They stayed there for a quiet moment, just enjoying each others' company. 

"There's so much I should be doing right now," Enjolras said quietly. "But for the moment I want to forget. I just want to lie next to you."

Grantaire pressed a kiss onto his cheek. "That can be arranged."

They shifted to lie down again, this time with Enjolras lying on Grantaire's chest. 

"Can I run my fingers through your hair?" asked the prince, and Enjolras nodded. 

He felt a hand gently track across his scalp, and he closed his eyes. Enjolras wasn't sure what purpose it served, but it was nice.

No, he knew exactly what it was. Grantaire was taking care of him, just as he had always done. Last night, when he brought him hot tea and a warm cloak. When he left his books neatly stacked for Enjolras' return. When he opened the river gate so Enjolras could dock his boat. When he had informed Enjolras of his true identity. He had always taken care of Enjolras. 

"Do your friends know?" he heard him ask. "Surely you can only take so many trips to assassinate the queen and come back unsuccessful."

Enjolras softly chuckled at the idea. "I've told them I have a contact at the palace who I've been speaking with," Enjolras replied, brushing his thumb over Grantaire's abdomen. "That's all."

"I see," replied the prince. "And you've been speaking with him."

Enjolras breathed a laugh. "Something like that."

They shared another moment of silence. If he listened carefully, he could hear Grantaire's heartbeat.

"I saw my mother yesterday."

"The queen?" asked Enjolras. "Is this a rare occasion?"

Grantaire swallowed. "Yes. I think it's been almost a year since I've seen her in person. But of course, she pretended like she had, and that she still cared for me. It's like a trail of breadcrumbs. When I was little, I didn't know better. Every time she would embrace me, I was convinced everything was okay, that she was going to love and take care or me. But then she would go away again. I kept holding out for her, desperate for her attention. But in time, I've realised she's incapable of change. She doesn't really care about me."

Enjolras thought about it, being the son of the country's most powerful political figure, and yet being made to feel invisible. "That's awful."

"I won't disagree with you on that, Apollo."

Enjorlas frowned. "Why did she invite you, then? Did she want something from you?"

"Of course. She only calls upon me if she wants something." Grantaire took a deep breath, as though preparing for how to tell Enjolras. "She's going to formally announce me to the public. I'll officially be the crown prince."

"What?" Enjolras answered in surprise. "What will happen, then? Will you have to take on more duties?"

"I don't know," replied Grantaire. "She doesn't plan to announce it for months still, so until then, I'll remain in the shadows. It's likely I won't hear from her again for some time."

Enjolras nodded slowly.

Grantaire traced his thumb down Enjolras' earlobe. "I've learned it's for the best, though, that I spend as little time with her as possible. I'd rather spend time with people who matter." 

The prince readjusted his embrace around him, giving him a squeeze and pressing a kiss into his hair. 

Enjolras understood what Grantaire was saying."Yes," he said, "Somehow, I matter more than the ruler of an empire."

"You do," replied Grantaire. 

"No," Enjolras breathed, but the way Grantaire was kissing his neck made him laugh. "Stop it."

He sat up a little, and their eyes met again, faces inches apart. Grantaire had that smirk he always carried, fearless and satisfied. Enjolras lifted a hand to his chin, and Grantaire's smile widened before Enjolras leaned in for a kiss. 

"I don't know if you're hungry for breakfast," said the prince, "but I don't normally take it in my chambers. I'll have to venture out to the kitchens to fetch us something."

"I could do it," said Enjolras. "I think I remember the way to the kitchens."

Grantaire seemed surprised at the suggestion. "Are you sure, Apollo?" He placed a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "Really, I can go. It's no trouble."

"I'm your new servant, remember?" Enjolras glanced at him with a cocky smile. "Ultime? Besides, it would be nice to explore the palace a bit on my own. Write me a list of everything you want, and I'll bring it to them."

Grantaire studied him carefully. "Very well. But stay away from the queen's quarters."

Enjolras grinned, placing a finger to the prince's chest. "No promises."

***

Once Enjolras was dressed in his servants' guise, Grantaire wrote a note for him to give to the kitchen staff. He left down the corridor in search of the kitchens. 

He was pretty sure he remembered where to go; the last time, they had approached it from the opposite side, but it should be just around this corner--

No, this was just another corridor leading in a completely different direction. He was about halfway down it, trying not to act too suspicious when he thought it might be best to turn around and go back.

"Excuse me," said a voice, and Enjolras stiffened, swivelling his head around, trying to come up with an explanation.

"Ultime," said Bahorel, and Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief. The trainer gave him a warm smile. "Good to see you again. What brings you to this part of the palace?"

"Er, yes, His Grace has tasked me with taking this note to the kitchens, but it seems I'm lost." 

"I see that," said Bahorel, a deep laughter ringing in his voice. "Do you need some help?"

"I think I've got it," Enjolras answered without hesitation, but upon seeing Bahorel's expression, neither of them could be convinced of the fact. He sighed. "I'm nearby, right?"

"Just a little farther," explained Bahorel. "Take a left through the next doorway and the stairs are on the right."

"Oh," Enjolras said in realisation. "That makes sense. Thank you." He nodded to Bahorel.

"No problem," replied the other man, and they respectfully departed in opposite directions.

***

Grantaire smiled to himself as he stretched out over the sheets. Turning over on his belly, he breathed in the space where his lover had been, still lingering with Enjolras' scent.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on his door. 

"Go away," he called. 

"It's me," called a familiar voice. 

Grantaire remained still, gathering a few more ounces of sleep before sitting up, pulling the covers over his lap. "Come in!"

"Good morning, R," Bahorel said with a grin, closing the chamber doors behind him. "Sleep well last night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Grantaire remarked innocently as his friend entered the room. 

Bahorel gave a laugh. "I just saw Ultime in the corridor. You send your servant-mistresses to do your bidding now? I hope you don't make him call you 'Your Grace' in bed."

"No," Grantaire said, shooting him a glare, although he couldn't completely hide a satisfied smirk. "And he's not my servant. That's just a disguise so he can blend into the palace."

Bahorel folded his arms and shook his head. "Well, I don't know where you found him. Next time you take a trip to the institute for pretty boys, could you think to invite me?"

"It's even a mystery to me how I found him," said Grantaire. He sat back on his headboard, clasping his hands and laying his head back on them as he glanced away, a vision flashing of Enjolra's delicate sleeping face. "I could tell you he fell from the sky."

Bahorel rolled his eyes. He glanced around the floor at the foreign clothes that littered it. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Wait. It's him, isn't he? The assassin?"

Grantaire's silence was telling.

"Of course, now it all makes sense." Bahorel shook his head with disbelief. "You've been sneaking a hitman back into the palace? R!"

"He's hardly a hitman," said Grantaire, rolling his eyes. "I don't think he's ever killed a person in his life."

"And you let him wander the palace alone?"

"Don't worry," said Grantaire, confidently sitting back with his eyes closed. "I told him not to kill anyone on the way to the kitchens."

"Really," Bahorel replied doubtfully. "You think there's no absolutely chance of him getting into any trouble?"

Grantaire sat up, pondering the question. "I suppose he has been gone awhile," he said quietly in conclusion.

He and Bahorel made eye contact. 

"Shit," he said, standing up and grabbing his robe from where it hung by the bed. "Alright, I'll go and check on him."

"Good idea," said Bahorel. He gave a laugh. "And let me know how it turns out, the whole sleeping-with-your-own-assassin thing."

***

When Grantaire descended into the warm, oven filled room, he could already sense trouble. 

"But she just said it wasn't her fault!"

"Silence, worm, or I'll smack you, too!"

"What's going on?" called Grantaire as he sauntered down the stairs in his robe and slippers. 

"Your Grace," said the kitchen master, Gibelotte, immediately bowing towards him. A young girl, holding her own hand as though in pain, also turned towards him and bowed.

Enjolras' righteous anger turned to shock. For a moment, he just stood there, his mouth hung open, but after seeing Grantaire signal with his eyes toward Gibelotte, he got the message that he should bow as well. "Your Grace."

"Good morning," said Grantaire. "I've been waiting for my breakfast for some time; would anyone care to tell me what's the problem?"

"Yes," said Gibelotte, pointing at Enjolras. "This insubordinate talked back at me for appropriately disciplining my attendants."

Grantaire just folded his arms, calmly looking from one person to the other. "For what exactly?" 

Gibelotte gestured to the younger servant. "Azelma here left an entire batch of loaves to burn." The young girl cowered by the side of the nearest table. "Now they won't be ready in time for Her Majesty--"

"Your Grace," Enjolras interrupted, "The oven is too tall for her to reach in to pull the loaves out. She burned her hand and ran to fetch water, and in the meantime, the loaves burned. And then she tried to beat her! These working conditions are inhumane for a child, and she shouldn't be punished for it, least of all by violence!"

Gibelotte sent him a death glare, but immediately returned her attention to Grantaire upon hearing him address her. 

"Gibelotte," said the prince. "If you hadn't hit Azaelma, then Ultime wouldn't have called you out for it, and I would be sitting in my chambers enjoying my breakfast right now. Now, whose fault is that?"

The kitchen master was speechless. Enjolras looked less impressed.

"And do you really need the smallest person in here to be working the ovens?" asked Grantaire. "Seems like a lack of oversight on your part."

Gibelotte bowed her head. "M-my deepest apologies, Your Grace."

"Good," concluded Grantaire. "Now I would appreciate it if you could get my breakfast in order before I report you to Javert. I believe he's the one in charge of your wages, correct?"

"Right away, Your Grace." She clapped her hands and a few more assistants showed up to assemble the meal he had requested.

"Excellent," said the prince. "And the same goes for if I ever hear you beating your attendants again. Is that clear?"

Gibelotte bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

***

As soon as they were behind closed doors in his suite, Grantaire laughed and gave Enjolras' arm a squeeze. 

"You can't go around arguing with the staff," he said as Enjolras set the tray on the table. "They're going to notice you're not a regular servant."

"I couldn't just say nothing!" replied Enjolras. "She hit that poor girl!"

Grantaire set down the basket of fruits and bread he had been carrying, and took Enjolras' hand to give it a soft kiss. "I know. I know you can't pass up a chance to fight injustice. Can we eat now?"

Enjolras sighed and nodded. 

They sat down to eat, and only a moment of silence passed before they were comfortable being their usual congenial selves with each other.

"I have fencing with Bahorel in the evening," Grantaire explained, tearing off a piece of bread. "You can come, of course. And stay the night again." He smiled. "You can stay as long as you want."

Enjolras had to admit that sounded nice. "I can't stay forever," he replied, "I have work to prepare for the next _amici_ meeting."

Grantaire leaned into the table with interest. "I want to come sometime," he said. "Would you permit me to attend?"

Enjolras laughed. "Are you interested in coming because you want to see what we do, or because I'm in it?"

"I'd be lying if I said it had nothing to do with you, Apollo," replied Grantaire with a smirk. "But I am quite interested. I want to hear what you all have to say. What goes on in the world."

Enjolras thought about it, the crown prince making an entrance at the Musain. All these meetings where they discussed social change, and here was someone who had more power than any of them to make change happen. "Alright, then. I can sneak you out one night along the river."

Grantaire's face fell. "I wish you could, Apollo. I would have asked you sooner. But the guards will notice if I'm gone for too long."

Enjolras' brow furrowed. "You mean to tell me you've never left the castle?"

"It's not that," said Grantaire. "I've left the palace before. I just have to make an excuse and get it approved. Tell Javert that I want to see the city or something. Unfortunately, even then I'd have to be escorted by guards the entire time."

"I see," said Enjolras. He furrowed his brow in thought. "We'll have to figure something out."

"We'll have to," agreed Grantaire. "I don't think I can keep hearing you talk about these meetings without seeing one for myself."

At the sound of that, Enjolras' expression brightened considerably. "It's a plan, then." He glanced away for a moment in thought. "Um, Grantaire?"

"Yes?" said the prince. 

Enjolras pursed his lips. "Thanks for coming down to the kitchens earlier. I can get caught up in my anger sometimes, and I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come and defended me."

Grantaire lowered his head to where Enjolras' hand rested on the table, caressing it gently. "Don't ever apologise for being yourself, Apollo."

Enjolras' lips formed a smile, and as far as he knew, he was probably blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little early because work is slow. See you all next Monday when Grantaire takes a trip into the city!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: very brief sexytimes

The sun was setting as Javert pulled back the hood of his cloak and entered the Inn Musain. This was it, the final destination of the servant he had sent to tail whomever it was, the man who had been visiting Grantaire's tower. Just a few days before, they had seen a hooded figure leave down the river on a boat, and followed him straight to this inn before losing him in the crowd. 

"Good evening, mistress," he said, taking a seat behind the bar. "An ale, if you have it."

She gave him a glass, and he sat there for a few minutes, drinking cautiously and taking in his surroundings. There was a good crowd of patrons, red faced drunks ranging from rambunctious and jolly to face-down-on-the-table. No one stood out particularly, and the fact that his servant had practically no description for the man made things difficult. He took another sip of his drink when he noticed something, a poster hanging above the bar. 

"Mistress, what is that?" he asked the barmaid, studying the script A and V intertwined together. 

"Aye, that?" she answered, leaning onto the bar. "The _Amici Veritatis_? Why, who's asking?"

"No one," answered Javert. "I'm a simple traveler from the provinces."

"Ah," she said with a grin, "then perhaps you understand the ills of this country and the means we have to complain."

Javert slowly sat up, his back straightening. "Yes," he concluded. 

The barmaid raised an eyebrow. "And perhaps you would find some like-minded individuals here. Are you in town through Friday?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Good," she said. "You might get along with the amici. They have a meeting every Friday. In fact, some of them are in the back room now, if you'd like to speak with them."

Javert set his glass down. "Yes. Can you take me to them?"

***

In the back room of the Musain, Enjolras, sat with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the three of them crowded around a table and discussing plans with excitement.

"I've spoken with Eponine," said Courfeyrac, leaning into the table. "She has a penchant for handling discreet matters. It will be no trouble for her to receive him."

"How do you know her, again?" asked Combeferre, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

"She used to work at the inn where Marius was staying," Courfeyrac explained. "I've been good friends with her for a time. Now she runs and manages _Il Gatto D'Oro_."

"Excellent," said Enjolras. "I'll tell my contact to meet us there--"

He paused, glancing up as a stranger approached the table. 

"Can I help you?" asked Enjolras, studying the older man's plain but neat appearance. He was a man of lofty stature, and his hair was turning gray, but his bold expression piqued Enjolras' interest.

"The kind woman at the front advised me to speak with you three," said the man. "I'm looking for like minded individuals to discuss the injustices against the nation's poor."

Enjolras smiled. "Then, by all means, pull up a chair, sir! We have room for you at our table."

The man bowed his his head. He took a chair from a nearby empty table and Courfeyrac moved to make room for him. Combeferre, on the other hand, remained oddly still. 

"So," said Enjolras, standing to hold out his hand. "I'm Enjolras, the leader of the _Amici Veritatis_. This is Courfeyrac and Combeferre. What is your name, good sir?"

"I care not to share it," remarked the man, glancing away shamefully. "I'm trying to keep a low profile. I've had to break the law on occasion to support myself."

"Well," said Enjolras, "You're certainly welcome to join us. I'm sure hard times have affected you as much as anyone. Which guild do you belong to?" 

"I don't really have a trade," said the man, stroking his neat beard. "I mostly drift, doing odd jobs. I was born in a prison, you see, and rarely got to see my parents. I happened to come through town on the way to my cousin's. Unfortunately, the current economy put me out of work, and I'm hoping to find more luck in the north."

"I've heard that story many a time," remarked Courfeyrac. "You're welcome to join us at our usual meeting if you care to stay in town until then."

"Yes," said Combeferre, suddenly raising his voice. "You're welcome to attend our general meeting, however, my friends and I have some delicate matters to discuss at the moment."

The other two turned to him, and the old man remained unfazed. 

"Combeferre is right," said Courfeyrac. "This meeting is more of a--senior members only. Senior as in membership, that is. We don't discriminate by age. You're welcome to attend on Friday."

"What do you mean?" asked Enjolras. "He's clearly invested in the cause as are we; I don't see how it can hurt to let him stay."

The old man stood up, and Enjolras went to meet his level, but Courfeyrac placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him seated. 

"No, no, I don't mean to intrude," said the man. "I thank you for your hospitality. I'll be glad to attend the meeting on Friday."

Combeferre nodded. "Thank you, sir. We look forward to it."

The bade him goodbye, Enjolras remaining still with a confused expression as the man left the room.

"What was that?" he asked his companions when they were alone once more. "I don't see what the big deal is. How could he do us any harm?"

"What we're discussing amounts to high treason," argued Combeferre. "You know that. He's welcome to join our cause, but we can't let just anyone in on our plans."

"You seemed to understand the necessity of secrecy when we were planning the mission at the palace," remarked Courfeyrac. "What's changed?"

"Nothing," Enjolras replied as offhandedly as possible. 

"Well, something has," replied Combeferre. "The Enjolras I know wouldn't let any such details slip his mind."

The two of them stared him down, waiting for an answer. 

"I'm sort of seeing someone," Enjolras said quietly.

"No way!" Courfeyrac crowed. "I wasn't sure our fearless leader even knew there was a thing on this earth called woman."

"He's not," said Enjolras. He couldn't help but quickly glance up at them, lending a shy smile. 

" _Enjolras_ ," beamed Coufeyrac, playfully tapping him on the side. "You minx! I myself, have had my fair share of nightly escapades with dashing men."

Combeferre, on the other hand, was rolling his eyes. "I'm glad this has all been brought to light, now can we return to the matter at hand?"

Courfeyrac leaned to whisper in Enjolras' ear, " _Combeferre's just vexed that he knows one of them personally_."

Enjolras couldn't help but give a laugh. 

***

At the sound of someone entering the room, Grantaire sat up in bed. The room was dark, and he slowly stood up, pulling on his robe. 

"Who's there?" he called. 

Immediately, someone approached him from behind and covered his eyes. "Guess who?"

Grantaire smiled, not bothering to answer before he spun around and greeted Enjolras with a kiss. 

"You weren't going to guess?" Enjolras asked with what he guessed was a smirk in the darkness. "I could have been an assassin. Well, one that was trying to kill you."

"I can tell your feather-light footsteps from a mile away, Apollo," Grantaire replied with a laugh, and then pulled his lover closer for another deep, passionate kiss.

Enjolras was happy to oblige. When Grantaire begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, however, he grasped his hands. 

"I can't stay, I just came to tell you something," he said, but Grantaire could hear the sweetest breath of laughter. 

Grantaire pouted playfully. "Can't you tell me after we're naked in my bed?" 

Enjolras traced a thumb up the side of the prince's chin. In the dark, Grantaire felt his breath against his neck, calm and even. "I suppose I could."

The prince just smiled, leaning into kiss him once more. 

***

Wind ripped through Grantaire's hair as he trekked across the palace lawn towards the fencing arena, but still, this couldn't account for his disheveled, quickly formed appearance. 

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said as Bahorel jumped down from the stone wall where he had been sitting. When Bahorel said nothing, just folded his arms with an approving grin, a lazy smile stretched across his own face. "And yes, the reasons are what you think."

"You lucky bastard," Bahorel said sharply under his breath, the surrounding guards and servants remaining out of earshot. 

"I am," replied Grantaire with a smooth expression. "And--" he put a hand on Bahorel's shoulder and pulled him aside, watching until the servants had left them. "On that note, I have some good news. Remember how you asked me about Enjolras, if I found him at the 'institute of pretty boys', or however you called it?"

Bahorel laughed. "Yes, I remember."

Grantaire gave a sly grin. "I can take you right there."

His friend leaned in, intrigued.

***

Javert hurried to his quarters to prepare for his mission in the city. He was running late after a whole mass of servants commandeered the stewards' meeting, the lotof them demanding safer working conditions. But as he made his way down the corridor, the queen's personal servant came running after him. 

"Cosette," he said, pausing to breath a weary sigh, "tell me Her Majesty does not need me to see me _right_ this instant."

The girl smiled apologetically, handing him the summons. 

***

It was just about sundown as Grantaire and Bahorel reached _Il Gatto D'Oro_ , one of the lesser known residences in the city's red light district. The two of them were dressed in simple street clothes to remain inconspicuous, but the trio of guards following their every step couldn't help their low profile. 

("This is ridiculous," Bahorel remarked when Javert told them Grantaire was not, under any circumstances, to leave the palace without them. "Between the two of us, we're more than capable of defending ourselves.")

One of the guards opened the door for the prince, and they hurried inside after him. 

"Good evening," called a dark haired woman, dressed in a high-necked but well-adorned gown, delicate black earrings hanging from her ears. She smiled as she descended the stairs towards them. "To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?"

"We're here to see _La Donna Rossa_ ," said Grantaire, giving the code phrase without hesitation. "I believe we've been in touch through a mutual contact?"

She smiled, earrings swaying as she bowed her head. "Yes, indeed. You must be R, then. A pleasure."

Grantaire took her hand and knelt to kiss her knuckles. "The pleasure is mine, Madonna."

He stood, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Bahorel is seeking a similar business tonight."

"Certainly," said Eponine. She turned her attention to the armed men who were now loitering awkwardly in her parlor. "And who are these fine fellows?"

"If you could entertain them during our stay, it would be appreciated," replied the prince. 

"Of course," she said, smiling so sweetly it made one of the guards blush. She gestured to the plush sofas that lined the walls. "Why don't the three of you take a seat, and I'll have you brought something to drink?"

None of them had the slightest protest at that.

After they were settled, Grantaire and Bahorel followed Eponine through a room behind the staircase and ushered them into an undecorated storage room, and then leaving to return to her business. 

"You made it," said Enjolras, his face lighting up upon seeing them. "I was beginning to dread spending any more time in this godforsaken place." 

Grantaire laughed, making no hesitation to greet him with an embrace, after which, Enjolras awkwardly waved to Bahorel, who was very entertained. 

"Nice to see you again, _Ultime_ ," said Bahorel, grinning as he uttered the name which by now, he knew had been a cover-up.

"The meeting should be starting soon," said Enjolras, smoothing his tunic and giving himself a modicum of distance from the prince. "This door leads onto the street, and I can take you to the Musain from there."

"Perfect," said Grantaire, and they were just about to make their escape as they heard a voice--

"Grantaire, is that you?" 

The three of them turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway, giving the prince a particularly friendly smile. 

Grantaire's posture straightened. "Hello, Floreal."

"I thought it was you," she replied. She spoke with a light French accent. "And just when I was in need of a handsome man to keep me company."

"I can't tonight," he said, his face a remarkable deadpan. He didn't even want to see Enjolras' expression, still keeping his eyes on her as he placed his hand on Enjolras' shoulder and leaned to whisper in his ear, "Let's go."

Enjolras nodded. Bahorel covered his mouth, evidently trying very hard not to say anything. 

"Do come back, then," she said, curtsying before returning upstairs. 

***

The backroom of the Musain was lively, all of the amici conversing, drinking, playing games upon Enjolras' arrival. They all turned their attention to him, however, when he walked in, feeling prouder than ever.

"You came!" said Courfeyrac, standing up with a delighted expression. "Who are your friends?"

"Yes," said Enjolras, glancing to Combeferre who looked wary at the sight of him bringing more guests than expected. "Everyone, allow me introduce R, my contact from the palace. And this is his good friend Bahorel, with whom I've also had the pleasure of meeting on occasion."

"Hello, everyone!" called Grantaire, seemingly thrilled to be introduced to a few students in the back room at a pub. 

Bahorel gave a wave. "I'm glad R invited me," he said. "I'm also employed at the palace, and I'm ready to help out the cause however I can."

Enjolras looked to Combeferre, whose worry had been slightly, but not completely alleviated.

"Alright," said Enjolras as the two guests took their seats. "Combeferre, will you read the first item on the agenda--"

"So what's it like working at the palace?" 

Enjolras looked up, but it was too late. The rest of his friends were already crowding around Grantaire and Bahorel, asking them questions.

"Enjolras said you're a servant for someone important," asked Feuilly. "Is that true?"

Grantaire's eyes flitted to Enjolras briefly before he grinned and answered "Yes," his tone completely calm for someone with so much attention put on him. 

"Really?" prodded Bossuet. "Who is it? Can you tell us?"

"I'll tell you," said Grantaire, soaking up their stares. He looked around and lowered his tone in a dramatic gesture. "The queen has a son no one knows about. A bastard child, but the only true heir to the throne. And I look after him."

Joly gasped. "You're saying there's a crown prince? And you know him?"

Grantaire nodded. The amici were nowhere short of impressed.

"And I know him as well," Bahorel butt in, quick to play into the ruse. "I work on the palace grounds as his personal trainer."

"Really?" asked Courfeyrac. "What do you think of him, then? Is he a skilled fighter?"

"I suppose so," remarked Bahorel, sounding bored suddenly. "He's also the most pompous, self-centered, stuck-up airhead I've ever met."

That got the amici laughing hard. Grantaire's face fell.

"What about you, R?" asked Courfeyrac. "You said you work with him closely. Would you say the same?" 

Grantaire was silent for a moment, thinking deeply. "Yes," he concluded, his face entirely serious. "In fact, now that I'm away from the palace, I can speak more freely. Fuck the prince, fuck the queen, and fuck the entire royal family." He stood up, raising his fist. "Long live the people!"

The entire room cheered. Enjolras, however, just watched in silence. Luckily, Combeferre stepped in, saying now was a good time to move to the next item on their agenda. 

The rest of the night passed without incident. Grantaire sat at the table in the far back, coincidentally next to Joly and Bossuet, who seemed to chat with him in a friendly manner. Bahorel found a seat between Jehan and Feuilly. Enjolras spoke on the new tax rate that was imposed on farmers and the working class, and the corruption among the city's nobles who had connections to the royal family. When the meeting was over, he took some time to touch base with his two second-in-commands. 

"This is excellent," said Combeferre. "I'm sorry for doubting your decision process. Now we have _two_ solid contacts to give us intel on the royal family."

"Yes," replied Enjolras. "I'm sorry I couldn't inform you in advance. R suggested inviting him, and I wasn't sure if he would come."

"You've done well," said Courfeyrac, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. 

The chatter in the room was beginning to die down, the amici slowing from both the late hour and the amount of wine consumed. Enjolras approached Bahorel, who was still at a table with Feuilly, telling him stories about life on the palace grounds. 

"Bahorel," he said, and the man immediately shot him a grin. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, _Enjolras_ ," he said, still toying with his name. "What is it?"

He stood and followed him to the side of the room, out of earshot of his friends. Grantaire sat at the farthest corner away from them, still joking with Joly about something, and swirling a half-empty glass of house wine in one hand. 

"So," Enjolras began, "I appreciate you agreeing to come. We could use someone like you, and you're welcome to return as you wish."

"Thank you," said Bahorel. "But that's not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?"

Enjolras' eyes flitted to the prince once more. "Yes. I've been meaning to ask you something."

Bahorel leisurely leaned against the wall. "Go on."

Enjolras pursed his lips together. He thought of how that woman had looked at the prince only a few hours before, so tender and gentle, like they had been very intimately acquainted. "Has Grantaire--R, I should say, does he take many mistresses?"

Bahorel burst into laughter. To Enjolras, this did not bode well. But Bahorel must have seen his terrified expression, because he placated him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"He has taken them on occasion in the past, yes," Bahorel explained, "But I've never heard him talk about any of them in the way he talks about you."

Enjolras was silent at that. Bahorel just laughed once more. 

"You should have seen the way he was looking at you during the meeting," said the trainer. "I have a hard time believing that's all you are to him. Now if you'll excuse me, your friend Feuilly has agreed to show me more of the city before I'm expected back."

Enjolras just stood there, mouth hung open, trying to form words but unable to. 

He found his way back to Grantaire. Joly and Bossuet were just saying goodbye, Bossuet's bald head nodding off onto Joly's shoulder. 

"Hello again," Grantaire said, not sharing their effects of sleep deprivation. "I suppose everyone's heading home now. And what about you, Apollo? Are you going to your family's grand palazzo?"

If it were anyone else, Enjolras would feel the need to reprimand them. But with Grantaire, his voice adapted an easy tone. "I rent a simple lodgings not far from here during my studies."

Grantaire gave a laugh. "I should like to see them, if I'm to believe that."

Enjolras considered it. Grantaire hadn't expressed any need to return to his guards just yet, so he saw no harm in it. "Very well, then. Come with me."

***

Enjolras rented a furnished room only a few blocks from Musain. It was up a few flights of stairs (clearly not one of the more expensive units), and contained little more than a single bed, a desk and chair, sad trunk of belongings. It was more a mess than Grantaire expected, clothes and books scattered about. 

Enjolras lit a candle and offered a seat next to him on the bed. The prince sat down, and noted how handsome the leader looked when silver moonlight outlined his face. 

"Are you satisfied?" Enjolras asked him. "I don't know what you were expecting."

Grantaire let out an easy laughter. "No, I'm quite satisfied, Apollo."

"I know it's not as grand as your chambers." Enjolras said, almost boredly, leaning back on his fists and kicking one foot idly.

"It's better," said Grantaire, his face hardening. "It's more authentic. You're not trying to make a statement about your wealth and power. It's just you."

Enjolras just stared back at him, a hint of surprise nestled in his pale face. 

"Enjolras," Grantaire began, his hands suddenly fidgeting nervously. "I have been to that brothel before. Not regularly, but a few times."

Enjolras didn't make eye contact, just nodded. 

"That was...rather uncomfortable, seeing her again. I'm sorry it happened that way."

Another moment of silence passed between them, then Enjolras spoke. "Did you mean what you said? When you said 'fuck the prince'?"

"Yes." Grantaire sighed. "I know it sounds. I didn't mean me, personally. I meant the title. I got lucky, I was born into wealth and power. It's not fair. It shouldn't go to me."

To his surprise, Enjolras moved to take his hand. 

"You're incredibly brave, Grantaire."

The prince didn't even think to look up before Enjolras leaned in to kiss him. 

When he didn't react, Enjolras pulled away, and their eyes met again. 

"And now you don't want to be lovers?" Enjolras teased.

Grantaire just smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, and this time, they stayed, drinking in each other's presence. 

"What now?" Enjolras breathed in between kisses. "Are you going to take me like one of your French girls?"

Grantaire could sense the apprehension, so he began his favorite pastime--proving Enjolras wrong.

Slowly, he made his way down the other man's neck, trailing kisses past his collarbone, slipping onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras practically giggled as Grantaire undid the fastening of his trousers. 

"Just tell me if it feels good." 

Grantaire set to taking him out, pressing his lips to Enjolras in a new place. The other man gasped, but did not protest as he took the length of him in his mouth. As he performed the act, Enjolras' hands flitted about, trying to find good place to rest them. Grantaire felt this, and took one of his hands and brought it to his scalp, letting Enjolras grasp at the roots of his hair. And at the way he gripped with such passion, Grantaire knew his work was satisfactory.

When the act was over, they decided to crawl into Enjolras' little bed together, not bothering to undress as they knew Grantaire was to leave soon. But for now, they cradled each other, clinging onto the tender moment.

"I'd like to think this whole outing was because I can't swim," said Grantaire, finding Enjolras' knuckles to press a gentle kiss onto them. 

Enjolras laughed. "I still can't believe you can fence, shoot a longbow, pin a person to the ground, and yet you can't swim."

"I've just never been taught," said Grantaire. "Never had the need to."

"I would think it's a basic survival skill," replied Enjolras. 

"Is that why you learned?"

Enjolras exhaled, and Grantaire felt his stomach fall as his hand rested on top of it. 

"I grew up in a small village on the coast. In the south. In the summertime, bathing in the ocean was sometimes the only way to keep cool."

Grantaire was silent for a moment, trying to picture it: Enjolras as a child, laughing and playing on the beach. "That sounds nice. I should like to visit sometime."

It was Enjolras' turn to take his hand, bringing it close to press a kiss into his thumb. "Maybe someday."

Grantaire beamed at the idea. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The two of them remained still.

"I know you're there!" It was Eponine's voice. 

The two of them gave each other an awkward glance, and Enjolras pulled back the covers to get up and let her in, Grantaire trailing behind him. 

"You need to come now," Eponine said, her voice grave. "Your guards are already starting to get suspicious."

Grantaire nodded. "Right away." 

He gathered himself, but before he could leave or even tell Enjolras goodbye, he pulled him in for another kiss, which Enjolras returned without protest. 

"When shall I see you again?" he whispered. 

Enjolras' gaze remained steady. "Tomorrow night," he replied in a whisper. "I should like to finish what we started here."

This made Grantaire supremely happy, and he couldn't help himself to another kiss. 

Without another word between them, Grantaire exited the room to join a speechless Eponine.

"I didn't figure him for the romantic type," she remarked when they were out of earshot.

"I know," said Grantaire, a blissful smile across his lips. "I can't believe it either."

***

The high lasted into the morning as Grantaire awoke in his room and lay awake in the morning light. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, thinking of everything that had happened the night before. Not even the sound of Javert pounding on his door could sour his mood.

"Good morning, Your Grace," the steward said, drawing the curtains and letting in a harsh amount of sunlight.

Grantaire sat up, rubbing his eyes. "And to what business am I to attend this time?"

"I had an urgent meeting with Her Majesty last night," said Javert, adjusting the cuffs of his own sleeves. 

"And that's news?" Grantaire said, stretching his arms. "Are the drapes in the banquet hall the wrong shade of burgundy again?"

Javert looked up at him with that dead expression he was so capable of. 

"Her Majesty wants to announce your regency today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello. I almost wasn't able to have this chapter done in time because I dropped my laptop and the screen cracked :/ but luckily everything is still working yey so more will be coming out next week.
> 
> Also, I wanted to say the description of Javert in disguise is taken almost word for word from the brick because I was trying to figure out if he went by a different name, and I was very amused to find out the triumvirate literally just picked up this dude off the street like "he seems cool" and just ran with it. Until Gavroche exposes him as Javert, Hugo just refers to him as "the man they recruited from the Rue des Billettes". 
> 
> Also I did some digging into gay subculture during the Italian Renaissance and wow...it wasn't subculture so much as just...regular culture?? ([This article was very enlightening](https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1997-nov-02-bk-49205-story.html)). Apparently if they didn't have enough brothels around, men would just sleep with each other 🤷♂️ (also sorry for having to use a brothel as a plot point, I get all my plot ideas from Assassin's Creed if you can't tell).
> 
> Okay, that's all for now, thanks for reading and see you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

A crowd gathered at the base of Capitol Hill. Grantaire could hear them through the balcony doors, a dull roar of conversation. Before Javert had even roused him from sleep, a number of messengers were sent to alert the people that a royal announcement was to be made. In summary, it was too late, and there was no way he could get out of it. 

In his mind, he ran through the speech that had been prepared for him--he knew Enjolras would hate that, a political figure who couldn't write his own speeches--but he had difficulty concentrating. His nerves were on the edge of taking him over.

"I'll be here," Javert told him. "I'll stand behind this door the whole time, and if you forget the words, I can whisper them to you."

Grantaire nodded, but not without visibly shaking. His clothes seemed especially itchy--his mother had made sure he had been dressed in the finest regalia, red and black to match the family crest, instead of his usual green. 

Javert exited to the exterior, and Grantaire could hear his voice echoing from the other side of the door. 

"Gentle people of the empire," he announced in a booming voice. The sound of the crowd died down below him. "I present to you, His Majesty, Crown Prince Maximus Grantaire Thenardier."

Two guards opened the grand double doors, and blinding sunlight poured onto Grantaire as he stepped out onto the balcony. 

"Fair citizens," he called, and whatever confidence he had mustered suddenly fell into his stomach as he saw the massive crowd, spilling out into the forum and stretching as far as he could see into narrowing streets and alleyways. He cleared his throat, but as he opened his mouth again, no words came out.

Behind him, he heard Javert's low voice. " _Until today_..."

"Until today," Grantaire announced. A hush rang over the crowd, and he felt his constitution harden. "My name was Maximus Grantaire. I was just a common person such as yourselves. But today, Her Majesty in Her benevolence has decided to reveal the truth--that I am her son. Today, I am Prince Thenardier, heir to the royal throne, second after Her Majesty."

A rupture of murmurs spread through the crowd. 

***

"Excuse me! Sorry," Courfeyrac spoke as he meandered through the crowded square. He lifted his neck, craning it over tops of heads in search of a familiar face. "Combeferre!"

The other man was stoic in his expression, silently watching as the new prince gave his speech from above. 

"Combeferre," he repeated, and the student finally turned his head. 

"Where's Enjolras?" 

"I don't know," said Courfeyrac. "I haven't seen him at all this morning."

Combeferre shook his head slowly in disappointment. "And no one has seen him since the Musain last night?"

"Joly and Bossuet saw him leaving with Grantaire for his flat," replied Courfeyrac.

"Then let's go now," said Combeferre. "We have to tell him."

***

When Enjolras awoke in the warm glow of morning, he had gotten some of the best sleep in his life. He immediately rolled over and went back to sleep.

And now, someone was trying to ruin that good bit of rest by pounding on his door in the middle of the day.

"Enjolras? Enjolras, if you're in there, we have to talk to you urgently," he heard Courfeyrac call from the other side. 

He rolled over in his bed, shielding his eyes as the bright light hit them. 

"One minute!" he called back. 

After he was dressed, he opened the door with a yawn to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac, considerably more alert than he was. 

"Enjolras," began Combeferre. "Your contact from the palace, 'R'. Are you aware that he is in fact, the crown prince?"

Enjolras stopped rubbing his eye, his arm falling to his side with a dead expression. 

"It was just announced this morning," Courfeyrac explained. "He came out to Capitol Hill and spoke before everyone."

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, furrowing his brow in a confused expression. "He said they weren't going to announce it for a few months yet," he said quietly.

"So you knew?!" replied Combeferre incredulously. "For how long?" 

Enjolras shook his head. "I always knew."

"But that doesn't make any sense," said Combeferre. "Why would you--"

"It's him, isn't it?" Courfeyrac interjected. "The man you're seeing?"

Enjolras' gaze was trained on the floor. 

"Yes," he finally answered. "We're sort of lovers."

"Are you joking?" Courfeyrac elbowed him in the side. "Enjolras! Do not tell me you're 'sort of lovers' with THE crown prince!"

"How did this even happen?" asked Combeferre. 

Enjolras sighed. "It was during our mission that night at the palace. I ran into him by accident, and..." he smiled, thinking about it, Grantaire's strong fingers wrapping around his as he taught him to hold a dagger. "It was a stroke of luck, really. We've been in contact since then."

"Okay, then," said Courfeyrac, "You've got to tell us everything. Come on, we should sit down and talk."

***

The three of them hurried to the Musain, telling Madame Hucheloup to not, under any circumstances, let anyone into the backroom. She brought them a pot of tea and they thanked her quickly before she left them alone.

"Okay," sighed Combeferre pressing his fingers together anxiously. "Start from the beginning. How exactly did he reveal himself to you?" 

Enjolras glanced between them and sighed. "That night that we went to the palace, I came across him in his bedroom..."

He told them the general story, explaining how he had visited several times, leading up to Grantaire's coming to the amici's meeting (although quite a few details were left to his friends' imagination). 

"I just can't believe it to be true," said Courfeyrac, shaking his head. "You've been seeing him all this time? And yesterday, when we thought he was just a servant. He didn't seem particularly royal to me, and he had all those choice words to say about the royal family."

Enjolras nodded with a tired expression.

"Do you think he wanted his regency to be announced?" asked Combeferre. 

"Not at all," replied Enjolras, finishing a sip of tea. "I asked him if he believed what he said last night, that he hated the idea of the royal family. He said he meant it."

"We still can't know if he's truly loyal to the cause," remarked Combeferre. "He could turn on us, and then we would be exposed to the royal family."

"Well, I, for one, trust Enjolras' judgement," replied Courfeyrac. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you think he wouldn't betray our cause, I believe you."

"You're placing your trust in someone who has a clear conflict of interest," replied Combeferre.

"Then we can go visit him tonight," replied Enjolras. "I told him to expect me. You can interrogate him yourselves."

Combeferre folded his arms. "Tell me you don't think that's too dangerous. Right now, with everything that's gone on?"

"'Ferre," complained Courfeyrac. "He's done it, what, half a dozen times before? Surely we could all sneak in through that secret passage way."

"We'd draw more attention as the three of us," argued Combeferre. 

Enjolras closed his eyes, massaging his temples. At the moment, hearing his friends argue was giving him the worst headache. He wondered where Grantaire was right now; if he had really been put up to it, how he was feeling, being the empire's newest celebrity. No doubt he would be busy for the rest of the day. And who knows what other changes had been made around the palace; he was probably being more closely watched as an official member of the royal family--meaning no more sneaking out to the garden for a walk with his secret lover. 

"Maybe Combeferre's right," said Enjolras, a lament in his tone. "Things are different now. It was getting riskier as it was before each time I visited him. We need to lay low for awhile."

His two comrades looked to him and nodded. 

***

When Grantaire finally returned to his chambers, he was exhausted. After Grantaire had given his flowery pre-baked speech to the people, complete with some new decrees that didn't really affect them ("this calendar year shall be declared Year of the Thenardier in Her Majesty's honour, and today shall be Red and Black day, and a royal feast shall be held at the palace") he was taken to the senate for a long series of hearings for them to formally change his name and title, etc., etc. And if that weren't enough to bore him to tears, he had to sit through the feast, which of course was attended not by the common people to whom it had been advertised, but a very exclusive list of nobles. His mother was there, and he tried not to vomit when she placed a fake-loving hand on his shoulder and made a grand show about what a great honour she had given him. 

He sat down in his study and bade one of his servants to bring him some fine wine, since whatever amount he had during dinner was clearly not enough. 

Once was alone again, he pulled out one of his favorite texts, _The Odyssey_ , reading again the stories of Odysseus's ship passing troubled water past the six headed beast Scylla and the whirlpool Charbydis. He just needed something to get his mind of things while he waited for Enjolras. 

Was Enjolras coming? A few minutes passed and he realised what must be going through the other man's head, imagining perhaps he decided to announce his royalty, going against everything he told Enjolras the night before. If that was the case, the revolutionary had the right to be angry. 

He heard a knock on his door. Then, Javert's voice echoed through the other room, and Grantaire pulled his feet off his desk, sighing loudly. 

"What is it?" he demanded. "What more could you want from me, and at this hour?"

"I have an urgent matter to discuss," Javert said in his usual authoritative tone.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. And I imagine it can't wait until tomorrow?" He sincerely hoped Enjolras did not pick this opportune moment to arrive. 

Javert said nothing, just sat in a nearby chair. His voice was quieter when he said, "I've had the secret entrance to your chambers blocked from the outside."

That made the prince sit straight up. 

"What?! But what if..." he quickly thought to reword his argument. "What if I need to escape?"

"Grantaire," said Javert. "There's talk amongst the servants of you spending time with a handsome young servant, one they did not recognise. They've heard his voice in your chambers on occasion. I know you're sneaking someone into your tower. Who is it?"

Grantaire was dead silent. 

"Is he a whore?" Javert demanded. "I remember your request to leave the palace last night." When Grantaire made an uncomfortable face, Javert's tone softened. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Many emperors have taken male lovers ahead of you; it's only fitting that you should do the same. It's in your blood, even. Any healthy adult man engages in certain activities, and it matters not if the object of his passion is a man or a woman. But what you need to know is you must be careful with whom you seek intimacy. There are those out there who would want to take advantage of your position of power. Just recently, I unearthed information about a revolutionary group trying to overthrow the monarchy."

Grantaire stared back at him silently. Javert looked quite serious. 

After a moment, Grantaire admitted quietly, "He's a whore. I've been sneaking him into the palace. It was him who I went to visit last night." 

Javert sighed, and it sounded like relief. "Alright, then. I'll permit you to keep visiting him at _Il Gato D'Oro_. Anything as long as it doesn't distract you from your duties. You'll have to keep in disguise, of course, and be escorted by guards whenever you leave the palace. When do you need to see him again? I can arrange for you to go tomorrow night."

Grantaire's mouth was still ajar. He nodded slowly. 

"Very well," said Javert, and he stood up. "I'm glad we could have this talk. Good night, Your Grace; I suggest you get some sleep before your meetings tomorrow."

The older man left him, and the prince remained in the endlessly silent room, his thoughts spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little shorter than usual; I was kind of busy this week and couldn't find a lot of time to write. Also, we're moving into the uncharted territory past the plot I had planned when I originally started writing, so that will take some time to develop. I hope to have something decent by next week. Until then, thanks for reading and see you next Monday :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: minor/brief violence

"What say you, Prince Thenardier?"

Grantaire sat up at that. For years he had been sitting in on these senate hearings, and never before had he called upon to weigh in. Today, he had listened for hours as the two consuls, Gillenormand and Valjean, argued about taxes, and as usual, he was close to falling asleep. "Consul" was essentially a useless title, since although they had final say over senate decisions, the Queen acted independently and could override such decisions at her leisure.

And now, Consul Valjean having asked him of his input, the whole senate was silent and awaiting his response.

"Um," he sat up, stretching his spine for the first time in what felt like ages. "I think a progressive tax makes more sense. Should a poor man who has to steal bread to feed his family pay the same amount as the man who profits off of exploiting his workers?"

A dull roar of whispers echoed among the chamber walls. Gillenormand's scowl considerably worsened, but Valjean seemed pleased. 

"An excellent point, Your Grace," he said, turning to his fellow statesmen. "In fact, I've never been one to challenge Her Majesty's place on the throne. But how many months has it been since we've seen her attend her own court. And yet the prince has been here every week! He seems far more equipped to her position, at least from my perspective."

Grantaire sat back in his chair, unsure what to make of that. Gillenormand said nothing, but passed him over with a thoughtful glance, suggesting he did not disprove of the idea. The rest of the senate, however was growing more unruly. 

"Permission to speak!" requested one of the senators from the stand. 

"Granted," Gillenormand replied, and a hush fell over the senate once more. 

"Her Majesty kept His Grace's royal lineage a secret," the senator continued, "In order to secure her place on the throne. But now that his lineage has been revealed, he is the only male heir to the the throne. Why else would Her Majesty reveal him as her son if not to transfer power to him as the new emperor?"

"I second that!" announced another senator, standing up in the auditorium. "It has been our custom for centuries, male heirs have always preceded their mothers in inheriting the throne!"

If the previous statements had not caused talk amongst the senate, this set them off, noise spreading like wildfire. 

"Order! Order!" called Consul Gillenormand, and Grantaire just stared absently at the table in front of him, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

***

Enjolras' face had just hit his pillow when he heard a knock on the door to his quarters. 

"What is it?" he called tiredly. "Courfeyrac, if you need to learn any more details about my personal relations, I told you--"

Upon opening the door, he grew silent at the sight of Eponine.

"You need to come right now," she said. 

***

Enjolras followed Eponine back to _Il Gato D'Oro_ , trying to stay closely behind her so they didn't get separated in the evening crowds. 

"This way," she hissed, and he craned his neck, finding her again, and following her down a dark alley.

"I don't suppose this is an elaborate ploy to kill me?" he asked as she brought him around the back door of the brothel. 

"Gods, no," she replied, hardly looking up as she unlocked the old wooden door with one of many keys on a large keyring. "You just became my new source of income."

"What?" he replied. 

"Just follow me."

Upstairs, she led him into what was likely the largest bedroom in the establishment, closed the door behind him, and there, on the other side of the overdecorated chamber was his prince. 

"Apollo," said Grantaire, giving no hesitation before throwing his arms around the revolutionary, breathing in his hair as though he were a fine wine. 

"Grantaire," said Enjolras, pulling back from the embrace in some restraint. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on?"

"I came for you as soon as I could," said the prince, peppering kisses along his jawline. "I had to wait for another approved visit to the city. You have to believe me when I say I didn't plan for any of this to happen."

Enjolras stared back at him, studying the sincerity of his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you," he said finally.

"It doesn't even matter," said Grantaire, clutching Enjolras' elbows in a soothing manner. "Javert had the passageway sealed up. I have some news to share." 

The way he was beaming completely disarmed Enjolras.

"You have news to share," he replied quietly, his hand finding the collar of Grantaire's shirt and tracing along it, "News beyond your grand announcement from yesterday?"

"Yes," answered Grantaire. "I was sitting in on the senate hearing today. There is talk amongst them that I am the true heir to the throne, not my mother. They want to make me emperor!"

Enjolras' face went blank with surprise as the prince shook him with excitement. "But why should that make any difference? I don't--" he gave a humorless laugh, "I don't doubt your effectiveness as a ruler, but you're one monarch replacing another."

"That's the thing," replied the prince, with a devilish grin, "If I alone have the power, I alone have the power to give it away. I could give it to anyone. I could give it you, even."

That was enough to rend him speechless. Grantaire leaned in for another kiss, and at first he did not react, but on a second, he gave in to his physical impulses, wrapping his arms around his lover, weaving his fingers deeply into the hair on the back of Grantaire's scalp. 

They shared together, and they shared their bodies in a bedroom at a whorehouse, and Enjolras didn't care. Finally, they lie naked in bed, moonlight trickling in through the trellis covering the window and dancing over the prince's chest hair, Enjolras' fingers still idly running over it as he was consumed in thought. 

"I want to believe it," Enjolras said quietly. "I want to believe you would give up the throne. I don't believe your mother is going to approve the senate taking away her power."

"Who cares about my mother," replied Grantaire, taking Enjolras' knuckles and pressing his lips upon them. "She may be queen, but she has the whole senate against her."

Enjolras said nothing. He wanted to believe the senate could overpower the queen. 

He felt his hands along Grantaire's body in the dark and wrapped around him more tightly, pressing his cheek into the prince's collarbone. 

"Is something wrong, Apollo?" Grantaire asked gently.

Enjolras just shook his head.

In the darkness he felt Grantaire swallow. 

"There's something else I should tell you," he heard the prince say. "Javert knows about the _amici_."

That was enough to make Enjolras sit up. "What?! How?"

"I don't know. He just said he caught wind of some revolutionary group." Grantaire gave his hand a squeeze. "You need to be careful. Do everything you can to keep the meetings a secret."

Enjolras nodded. 

Grantaire pressed another kiss into his knuckles. After a thoughtful pause, he laughed. "Also...I may have told him you work in this brothel."

Enjolras lifted an eyebrow. "What?" Surely he didn't mean, "As--"

"--A whore, yes. He needed to know something about who I was seeing, and I figured that was better than the truth. That's why he agreed to let me come here to see you as much as I like."

Enjolras was silent for a moment. 

Grantaire clasped his hands around Enjolras' in apology, saying "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"No," replied Enjolras, and then he laughed. "I suppose I'm your whore, then."

After a hesitant pause, Grantaire eased into laughter of his own. He placed a gentle hand on Enjolras' cheek, and in the dark, they shared a tender kiss. 

***

When Enjolras woke in the morning, Grantaire had left, but not without leaving behind a note on the bedside table.

_Apollo,_

_I didn't want to wake you--you look so peaceful sleeping. I have to get back to the palace for another senate hearing. If it suits you, I will return tomorrow night._

_And now I can hear you making sweet snoring noises. Aha! You have some drool hanging off your lips. I'm very sorry to have to leave you now. Until next we meet, take care._

_R_

***

The sky was bright blue, not a cloud in sight as Grantaire and Bahorel gathered on the palace tennis court, preparing for another match. 

"I've beat you the past 5 in a row," Bahorel called with a laugh as he backed up to serve. "But if you want to lose a 6th, who am I to refuse?"

"Winning and losing matter not to me," remarked the prince. Paddle in hand, he returned Bahorel's serve with little difficulty. "It's about playing the game."

"Or," replied his friend with a sly smile, "You don't care about winning tennis anymore, not since you've started seeing your man every night."

"Not every night," replied Grantaire, and with this, he failed to hit the ball in time, scoring Bahorel a point. As the servants went to fetch it, Grantaire walked to lean over the net, lowering his voice to speak to Bahorel more closely. "Just two nights in the past week. But when court is at intermission for the season, I don't see why it can't be every night."

Bahorel laughed. "I don't see why not."

***

They played a few more games, Grantaire managing to score a few points before he lost again, making it more of a moral victory. 

At the far edge of the palace lawn was a small cottage called the gamehouse, where Bahorel took up residence. He and the prince dined there together, sharing wine and stories, drama about palace life. 

The sky had long been dark as Grantaire slowly made his way back to his chambers. Even still, at the late hour, he sat down in his study, pulling out _Odysseus_ to finishing reading about the slaying of the suitors.

When a hand touched his shoulder from behind, another one holding a knife to his throat, he let out a drunken laugh. 

"Enjolras, how did you get in here? This sort of prank is getting old."

The hands stayed still, but did not attack him, either. Grantaire, on the other hand, spared no hesitation grabbing the other man's hand and twisting it behind his back, hitting his fist against it to get him to release the weapon. 

Enjolras was fully covered, a hood over his head. Grantaire soon had him pinned, and laughing, pulled off his disguise. 

"Enjolras, this is getting ridiculous, what are you--"

The candlelight was dim, but it was enough to see that the man before him was _not_ his lover. The unknown man's eyes shook in fear, but in a split second, they flashed a feral anger and violence, and Grantaire instinctively grabbed the knife from the floor and slit the man's throat.

Once he had managed to process what had happened, the knife clattered to the floor beside him, and he fell away, hands shaking. 

_No_ , he thought, _no, no!_

Gathering his bravery once more, he approached the corpse, and held up his head, trying to identify the assailant. He knew almost everyone who worked in the castle, servants and ministers alike. 

He had absolutely no idea who this was. 

Wiping the blood from his hands, he slowly stood, desperately thinking what to do next. He opened his mouth to call for help, but no words came out. Somehow, he made his way to the corridor, hoping to pantomime some sort of urgency to his guards, but they were gone. The whole corridor was empty. 

Grantaire took off running.

***

"Bahorel! Bahorel, open up!"

After a few times pounding on the door of the gamehouse, Bahorel finally opened the door, having managed to put pants on under his nightshirt, although still sporting a yawn. 

"I've told you, R, I'm not giving you another rematch. I won fair and square--"

He became quiet as Grantaire pushed him inside and closed the door and locked it behind him. 

"What's this?" he asked, watching the prince ducking in front of the windows and peeking over the edge in paranoia. "Tell me you haven't seen a ghost." 

"I don't believe I was followed," said Grantaire. He began pacing about the room. "I didn't mean to kill him, I swear, 'Rel, but he was attacking me, I didn't know what else to do?"

"Slow down," said his friend, holding onto his arms. "What do you mean? Kill who?"

"An assassin. I didn't recognize him. He snuck into my chambers and tried to attack me but he's dead now and all the guards are gone and 'Rel, we need to get out of here, it's not safe here!"  
  
Bahorel's eyes silently traced down his torso, and Grantaire followed and looked down at his shirt. The fabric was dark, but the white corners of his undershirt made the spots of blood more visible.   
  
"You killed him," said Bahorel.  
  
"Yes," replied Grantaire.

Bahorel nodded. "Eponine's. Let's go now."

***

Grantaire didn't remember much of what happened after they arrived. After greeting Eponine, he stormed upstairs with little explanation to enter his usual room and promptly collapse into bed.

But when he awoke, he smelled familiar smells, a familiar sense of touch. He inhaled deeply, clutching at the fabric of a sleeve, and a pair of arms tightened around him. 

"Hey," said a familiar voice. "It's alright. I'm here."

Grantaire nodded, burrowing his face deeper into the man's chest. "I thought it was you," he murmured. "They were trying to kill me."

"I know," said Enjolras, running a hand down his back. "Go back to sleep. You need to rest."

He did, and when he woke again to golden morning rays, Enjolras was still there in bed with him, holding him. He ran a hand through Grantaire's hair, and he stopped when he noticed the prince stirring. 

Their eyes met, and Grantaire saw Enjolras' quiet expression, which had an endlessly calming effect. 

"Sorry about--you came to see me," was all the prince managed to say. 

Enjolras watched him, and then his eyes flickered. "Of course I came. Eponine and Bahorel told me everything. Are you feeling alright?"

Grantaire's gaze wandered away. He looked down at his clean shirt, one he had borrowed from Bahorel before they made their escape from the palace. 

"I think so," he answered. "Where his Bahorel? Did he go back to the palace?"

Enjolras shook his head. "He said he was going to see a friend."

Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Can I come in?" Eponine's voice called from the other side.

Enjolras looked to Grantaire, who nodded. "Come in!" he called back. 

The madame entered the bedroom and quickly closed the door behind her. 

"Javert was just here," she said, her tone hushed and serious. 

Enjolras sat up. "What?! What did you tell--"

He paused as Grantaire put a hand on his arm. 

Eponine shook her head. "He didn't even think you would be here. He told me he was just covering his bases. But they sent out a city wide search looking for you. Everyone will know that the prince is missing."

Enjolras folded his arms. "How do we know you won't sell him out?"

"Calm down, Enjolras," said Grantaire. "Eponine's a friend."

The woman nodded. "And I'm indebted to Grantaire. He's the one who saved me from my abusive parents, helped me set up my own house."

Enjolras quietly glanced from her to Grantaire, and then dropped his chin to signal he was done objecting. 

"You can stay here as long as you need to," Eponine explained.

"Thank you, Eponine," Grantaire replied, and she left.

"What are we going to do?" he said, turning to Enjolras. 

"I don't know. The _Amici_ are meeting again tonight, and I have to go. They need to know something about what's going on."

Grantaire's expression hardened. "If you must. But Enjolras, be careful."

The other man nodded. 

***

When Enjolras arrived at the backroom of the Musain, most of the other amici were already there, ready to throw a thousand questions his way.

"Enjolras!" called Bossuet upon seeing him. "Did you know R was the prince?"

"How long did you know?" interjected Joly. "Did you know when he came here last week?"

"Do you know anything about his disappearance?" asked Combeferre.

"Are you _involved_ with his disappearance?" asked Courfeyrac.

Enjolras put up his hands. "Calm down, all of you. R's life was put in danger, but he's in a secure location for the time being--Hey!" 

His eyes shot across the room as he saw an old man coming up the stairs, the same gentleman who had expressed interest in joining the club the other week.

"Excuse me, sir," Enjolras called to him, "This is a private meeting. You'll have to come back some other time."

The old man raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he answered gently. "I have a right to be here, same as anyone else who believes in freedom the people."

"You do," said Combeferre, adjusting his glasses. "But we have some delicate matters to discuss at the moment, unfortunately. You're welcome to join us again at the same time next week.

The old man looked displeased, but did not protest further. "Very well," he said. "I'll return next week. Sorry to intrude."

He turned to leave, but in doing so, he nearly collided with Bahorel, who was just coming up the stairs, Feuilly closely behind him. 

"Javert?" said Bahorel.

"Bahorel," said Javert, equally surprised.

"Javert?" Enjolras repeated, suddenly making the connection. He raised his voice to announce, "He's a spy from the palace! Don't let him escape!"

Javert straightened his back, no longer feigning his frail condition. He drew a sword which much have been concealed beneath his cloak, but it was too late, he had already been pinned against a wall by Bahorel and Feuilly. The weapon fell to the ground. Combeferre thought to lock the door into the room.

"Traitors, the lot of you!" he snarled. "Have you kidnapped the prince in your plot against the crown? Where are you keeping him?!"

Enjolras walked up to him, spat in his face. "Even if we did know where he was, what makes you think we would tell you?"

Javert was silent, but his scowl darkened. After awhile, he exhaled and hung his head. "He's in danger."

Enjolras folded his arms. "Say what you will, Spy. We'll be the judge of whether it's true."

"The queen," Javert breathed, flashing a glance to Bahorel, who strengthened his grip against the man. "She sent an assassin to kill him. She has decided he is a threat to her rule. The guards are looking for him, and if he is found, he will be brought back to the palace to be killed."

"Is that so?" replied Enjolras. "An why does that concern you? Isn't it your royal duty to follow the queen's orders? You would turn him in just the same."

"No," said Javert, his voice dropping. "Give me His Grace. I can arrange for his escape. We'll flee the country until it is safe for him to return." The tone of his voice changed. "If you give me this, I promise I wont turn in you and your..." he paused with a painful expression " _treasonous_ friends to the court."

Enjolras approached him again, watching the seriousness in his eyes. "No," he said defiantly.

Javert searched him once more, and then let out a quiet voice, "It's you, isn't it. You're the whore."

"Excuse me?" called Joly in dismay. "Do not dare to call our dear leader a--"

"Whore, yes," said Javert, sounding very pleased with himself. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. You match his description perfectly. You were the one my servant followed from the secret passageway to the Musain. It's you that His Grace has been seeing."

Enjolras breathed a sharp laugh. "Your point?"

"Enjolras, is it true?" asked Joly. "You've been seeing the prince?"

Enjolras closed his jaw tightly, straightened his posture. "Yes," he said finally.

"Enjolras!" Bossuet clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's amazing! You've been sneaking into the palace to see him?

"He has," Courfeyrac responded, patting Enjolras' back, looking rather proud. "Our dear leader can hold his own in that arena."

"That's so romantic," remarked Jehan, swooning a little. "A secret love affair with a prince?"

"Yes, yes," said Combeferre, looking impatient, "It's all a fascinating story. Now I suggest as our next course of action, we figure out how to detain this spy?"

"Combeferre has a point," said Enjolras, not at all trying to distract from the conversation of his love life. "Javert, if everything I've heard about you is true, I don't think we can let you leave here alive. You hold too much power."

"He oversees all the operations at the palace," Bahorel confirmed. "There's no telling what he'll do if we let him go."

"No!" Javert responded through gritted teeth. "You can't kill me. If I hold so much power at the palace, surely they'll notice if I'm gone."

"True," said Enjolras. "But you're forgetting that a prince has gone missing. Wouldn't it be suspect that you disappeared around the same time? And you just admitted you disagreed with the queen's plan to execute him, so the motive is not unfounded."

Just then, there was a knock on the door to the back room. "Javert, are you in there?" a guard called from the other side.

"Yes!" cried the steward. "These traitors have me hostage!"

Bahorel moved to shove his elbow in Javert's mouth to keep him quiet, but the loosening of his grip gave an opening for Javert to shove him off.

"Every man in this room is part of the group that has been plotting to overthrow Her Majesty!" he continued. "Come in and arrest them!" he called before Bahorel knocked the wind out of him with a blow to the stomach. He collapsed to the floor, unable to move as he grimaced in pain.

"Alright, then. Enemies of the state, if you're listening, Her Majesty commands that you open this door. If you do not, we will be forced to open it and arrest you!"

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac looked to each other in panic. 

"The back door," said Combeferre in a hushed tone, pointing towards the door at the end of the room. "I'm certain it leads to the kitchen."

Joly and Bossuet nodded, running to open it. It was unlocked, in a small miracle, but several crates and kitchen supplies had been stacked against the other side from its long unuse. They began working to unblock the passage. 

"We need to get out of here, everyone!" Enjolras said in a hushed tone. 

"What about him?" asked Courfeyrac, pointing to Javert on the floor. 

_THUD_! On the other side of the main door, they could hear the guards attempting to ram it open. Enjolras looked to the old man, cradling his knees and whimpering quietly. 

"Leave him," replied Enjolras, and the others nodded. Another thud sounded on the entrance to the room, and the eight of them hurried out through the kitchen door, closing it behind them just as the guards managed to break into the empty room. 

***

The night was quiet as Grantaire sat alone in his room, idly tracing his finger around the rim of a half-empty wine glass, lost in thought. 

"You've changed," said Eponine, leaning on the doorframe with her arms folded. Grantaire hadn't noticed her come in. "You must really love him," she remarked. 

Grantaire said nothing, but just then, they heard sounds of several footsteps coming up the stairs. 

"Enjolras," he said, immediately standing up when he saw the man enter his room. 

"Grantaire," said Enjolras, hurrying towards him, Courfeyrac and Combeferre following behind. Enjolras stopped a few feet away from him, giving a respectable distance, and Grantaire's pained just a bit, but understood. "It's not safe for you in the city. The queen was the one who sent the assassin after you."

Grantaire shook his head with a bitter expression. "I should have suspected as much. But how do you know?"

"Javert," replied Enjolras.

"He made a little guest appearance at the meeting," Combeferre explained.

"What?!" Without thinking, Grantaire clutched at Enjolras' shoulders, catching him off guard. "Apollo, I'm so sorry, I didn't think he would actually--I thought he had only heard a rumor!"

"It's okay," said Enjolras in a softer tone. Grantaire realised he must have been embarrassed about being vulnerable in front of his friends. Grantaire turned his cheek, but then, Enjolras took it in his hand, their eyes meeting as he leaned in to give him the kiss he had been longing for. 

When they pulled away, their hands were clasped together. 

"Everyone escaped the meeting safely," Enjolras explained, "but it's not safe here; that's why we've arranged for you to leave the city. Courfeyrac has agreed to let you stay at his home in the country. There's a carriage outside waiting to take us."

"Us?" replied Grantaire. "Does that mean you're coming, too?"

Enjolras gave his arm a squeeze. "Yes. I'm coming with you."

Grantaire frowned. "But Apollo, what about your cause? You can't just leave your friends here in the city?"

"It's not safe for the _Amici_ to continue meeting for the time being," said Combeferre. "The Musain has been compromised. We're taking time to regroup until we can relay information about a new meeting place."

Grantaire's gaze trailed from Combeferre, then to Courfeyrac, then back to Enjolras. "If you're sure. I'm ready to leave, then."

Once outside in the cold night air, Courfeyrac and Enjolras boarded the carriage that was waiting for them. Enjolras sat in the rear-facing seat, a blanket over his lap so that passing guards could not see he also had a prince hiding underneath it, clutching onto his knees. 

As Grantaire crouched on the floor of the carriage, feeling Enjolras' calm hand on his back, his mind was racing. He wondered what fate awaited them as the flames of the city faded behind them and they found quiet on the dark country road. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok lol I hope that was enough spicy drama for you. Thanks for reading, and see you next week!
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos. You have assassinated...my heart <3


	9. Chapter 9

  
When Grantaire woke again, he found his cheek bumping into Enjolras' shoulder. At some point during the night he must have graduated from the floor of the carriage, which was now lurching to a halt. 

"What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "Are we there?"

"We're stopping to stretch our legs a bit," replied Enjolras. Across from them, Grantaire could see Courfeyrac similarly dozing against the side of the carriage. 

Outside, the rolling green hills of the countryside were bathed in the orange rays of morning light. Grantaire breathed in the sweet smelling air, taking it all in. 

"Good morning everyone!" Courfeyrac announced, springing from the step of the carriage in complete contrast to his sleeping position just moments before. "We're making good time. We should be there before nightfall."

Grantaire walked to the edge of a small overlook and stood quietly in thought, letting a breeze ripple through his clothes. 

"Have you been out the palace much?" Enjolras asked, coming up behind him. 

"A few times," said the prince. He gave a laugh. "It must not be often enough because I forget what it looks like."

"This will be good for you, then," said Enjolras, standing beside him. "A good bit of country air to calm the nerves."

Grantaire nodded. He turned his head to Enjolras, whose expression was serious as ever, but deep circles were beginning to form under his eyes. The prince reached out and brushed his thumb past his cheekbone. "You should get some sleep, Apollo."

Enjolras gave a kind, humorless smile. "I'll sleep when the time comes."

Grantaire leaned into his shoulder. "You're not really a god, you know."

Enjolras breathed a laugh and shook his head.

***

It was late afternoon as the carriage finished winding up tiny cobblestone roads and stopped before Courfeyrac's family's country residence. The three of them stepped out, and Courfeyrac went to pay the driver, exchanging a few notes in hushed tones. Grantaire looked up, taking in the grand palazzo, which sat on a cliff overlooking a bright blue sea. 

"Courfeyrac, I knew you were quite well off," remarked Enjolras, "but this is massive."

"Is it?" asked Courfeyrac, lifting some trunks from the back of the carriage. "I do suppose it's a bit much for a summer home."

"If it makes you feel any better, this is nothing compared to my house," said Grantaire. 

That made Courfeyrac laugh hard. "We can't all have houses like yours, R."

A young woman in plain clothes came running up to greet them. "Lord Courfeyrac! I just received word of your return but a few hours ago! It's good to see you again."

"I'm happy to see you, too, Louison," Courfeyrac told her with a warm smile. "I suspect mother and father are still on holiday?"

"Yes, my lord," she replied. "They're not due back for another month still. The house has been quite empty in the meantime. Can I take your luggage for you?"

Courfeyract lifted a hand with a smile. "Don't trouble yourself. We're quite alright bringing it in ourselves."

"Very well, my lord." She gave a curtsy. "And these are your guests, I trust?"

"Yes," replied Courfeyrac, "These are my good friends from school, Enjolras and R."

"Enjolras," said Enjolras, shaking Louison's hand in a very impersonal manner. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You may call me R," said Grantaire, kneeling to kiss her hand, enough to make her blush a little. "I prefer it over my full name, which is a bit of a mouthful."

"Nice to meet you," she replied, pausing to smooth her skirts. "I know you must be hungry, but I'm afraid dinner won't be ready for another hour. In the meantime, would you like me to show you to your quarters? I've had two of the guest rooms made up."

Grantaire frowned, not sure what he was expecting.

"That would be lovely," replied Enjolras. "Thank you, Louison."

She gave a kind smile. "Right this way, then."

***

It was dark outside as Enjolras awoke. After being shown his room, he lied down on top of the covers to rest briefly before dinner. It seems he fell asleep.

"Oh! You're awake, sir," said a voice, and he sat up to see Louison with a tray of food. 

"What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his face. "Did I miss dinner?"

"Lord Courfeyrac and R didn't want to wake you," she replied, setting it on a table on the side of the room. "They've both retired for the night, but I've brought you your meal."

He nodded, sitting up slowly. "Thank you, Louison."

She gave a curtsy. "You're welcome. I trust you've found your quarters well enough to sleep."

"Yes." Enjolras gave a polite smile. "Again, thank you for everything."

"Of course, sir," replied Louison, and then she left.

Enjolras sat down at the table, preparing to fill his hungry belly, which was growling audibly. It was only now, with food placed before him, that he realised how much he needed it. 

The meal was excellent, perfectly crisp bread and seasonal fruit to accompany a few cuts of meat. As he washed it down with a careful amount of wine, his gaze fell out the open window, where waves crashed on the shore below. 

He was just finishing his final bite and when there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in!" he called.

Lousion appeared, faint worry lines creased in her brow. 

"Sir," she said, "is your dinner to your liking?"

"It was excellent," he replied. "Now tell me, is something the matter? You must not have come in here just to check on the food."

"Yes," she said, giving a quick smile. "It's R. I was passing by the corridor outside his chambers, and I heard him call out. It gave me quite a fright."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Is he alright?"

"I believe so," she replied. "I thought I would tell you. It was you he was calling for."

"Oh." Enjolras' posture straightened. "Could you remind me where he's situated?"

***

Grantaire's room was just down the hall, but it was still a ways to walk. 

"Here," said Louison, stopping in front of the door. And then, they could hear another sound from within. 

"Enjolras!"

At the cry, Enjolras hastily opened the door and made his way inside. The prince was clearly asleep, his neck twisting from side to side, his arms swatting at invisible air. Enjolras approached him, grabbing his arms and holding them still. 

"I'm here, what's the matter?" Enjolras whispered. 

"Enjolras," Grantaire cried at nearly the same volume. His eyes were still closed. "They're coming to kill me. They're--" he said, pausing as his voice choked up and a tear ran down the side of his face. 

"It's alright," said Enjolras, and he glanced up at Louison, who was still watching from the doorway. "You can leave us," he told her pointedly.

She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. 

"Grantaire," Enjolras whispered, now that they were in privacy. He shook the other man's shoulder's slightly, and his eyes flew wide open.

"Enjolras," he breathed, sitting up suddenly. "What happened? Why are you here?"

"You were having a bad dream," Enjolras explained. "You were calling my name."

"Oh," replied Grantaire, glancing away. "Sorry to wake you."

"It's no trouble," said Enjolras, sitting beside him and taking his hand. 

Grantaire seemed to be immediately calmed by this. His mouth twitched into a quick smile, but then he glanced away again. "I wish you would stay here."

Enjolras sat silently in thought for a moment, and then began to remove his shoes. 

"Are you sure?" said Grantaire, watching him remove his layers save for his tunic. "I thought you might not want to draw attention."

"I don't care," remarked Enjolras, and he slid under the covers. "Besides, I can't see you like this. You shouldn't be sleeping alone."

A grateful smile spread across Grantaire's face, and he reached out, throwing his arms around Enjolras for a tight, warm embrace. 

They pulled away, and their eyes slowly met in the dim light. 

Grantaire reached out to cup the side of his face, gently brushing his thumb over it. Enjolras closed his eyes, relishing the touch. As he slowly opened them, they met with Grantaire's once more, and it didn't take long for their lips to meet in a kiss.

Their hands grew desperate. Clingy. Clinging at life before something threatened to take it away again. Enjolras kissed him hard, sucking at his bottom lip as he felt the prince pull his shirt over his head. He felt his hands trace over every inch of him, and he enjoyed it immensely. He put his hands on Grantaire's, guiding them where they needed to go, but by now they needed little guidance. 

"Enjolras," Grantaire breathed, and now Enjolras understood what it meant. _I need you_. He felt as Grantaire pressed kisses along his collarbone, and out the window, he could hear waves crashing on the shore below. 

***

"Sir, are you awake yet?" 

Grantaire groaned as he rolled over in bed, trying his best to ignore the pounding on the door. 

"Good morning," Lousion called upon entering the room. "The Lord is awaiting you downstairs for breakfast if you--" 

She stopped in her tracks upon seeing Enjolras lift his sleepy head, golden curls tossed about haphazardly in the morning glow (Grantaire thought he looked rather enchanting). 

"Enjolras!" she called. "I didn't realise you were still here--" 

It was then, Grantaire saw as she glanced about the room, she made the connection between the clothes on the floor and their bare shoulders.

"Oh!" She lifted a hand to hide her blush. "So sorry to intrude! I'll inform Lord Courfeyrac that you need a minute."

"Yes, thank you," Grantaire called back as she shut the door. He looked to Enjolras' dazed, half asleep expression and laughed. 

"Do you think we shocked her a bit?" said Grantaire, fingers trailing along his own chin in thought.

Enjolras just laid back down and rested his hands on his stomach. "She lives with Courfeyrac, so she can't have been too surprised."

Grantaire crawled beside him, lying on his stomach and tracing a hand down Enjolras' chest. "I hope you like surprises. We're going on a hike today."

"No," breathed Enjolras. "I won't do anything. I'm just going to lay here, read a book perhaps."

"Yes, and you're going," Grantaire teased. "Courfeyrac and I were talking at dinner, and we agreed that I'm woefully unaccustomed to the outdoors. We're going this afternoon, and if you won't come with us, we'll continue to talk about you behind your back. I spoke with him last night at dinner, and he already told me _several_ embarrassing stories."

Enjolras groaned, but set a hand on top of Grantaire's as it rested on his chest. Grantaire could tell it meant affection. 

"Fine," replied Enjolras. He thoughtfully laced his fingers in Grantaire's. With his other hand, he reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind the prince's ear. He frowned, pulling his hand back, rolling a few grains of sand between his fingers. "What's this?"

"Oh," said Grantaire with a playful laugh. "Courfeyrac and I went down to the beach for a bit last night. Like I said, we had a good time talking about you."

Enjolras closed his eyes with a tired expression that only made Grantaire laugh more. "And how long do you think we can stay here until Courfeyrac comes looking for us?"

Grantaire grinned. "Not long, Apollo."

***

Breakfast was uneventful. They entered the dining room, now more composed, clothed, and standing several feet apart, and Courfeyrac was awaiting them with a knowing smile and a bright "Good morning, hope you slept well." Luckily, Louison was gone for the morning, so that was the extent of all their embarrassment.

"I told Louison we would be fine by ourselves," Courfeyrac remarked as they reached the walking path at the base of some hills, the coast still visible in the distance. "We can handle ourselves in some wilderness for a few hours, can't we, boys?"

"How long did you say it was?" asked Enjolras. "A few kilometres?"

"As far as our imagination takes us!" Courfeyrac replied. Upon seeing Enjolras' unimpressed expression, he replied, "It's about ten kilometres, but we can turn around when we get tired."

"I see," said Enjolras.

"I want to reach the end," replied Grantaire. "What's stopping us? Enjolras, do you have some meetings you're in a hurry to return to?"

Courfeyrac laughed at that, and Enjolras shot him a glance, but even he couldn't keep a smile from forming. 

They didn't quite reach the end of the trail, but stopped at a nice point overlooking the valley. Courfeyrac shared some refreshments that Louison had packed them, and they sat and watched the clouds for a peaceful moment.

"You two should know," Courfeyrac spoke up, "Louison came to me with some questions. I informed her R has a sensitive background, that he escaped from a dangerous situation and no one is to know that he's here. I kept it purposefully vague. And as far as my parents know from my letter, I've invited a couple friends to come stay for awhile on holiday."

"Good," said Enjolras. "We should keep a low profile."

Grantaire gave a nod, quietly taking in the scenery.

"What do you think is happening back in the city?" Courfeyrac wondered aloud. "And our friends, how are they doing?"

"I think it's probably chaos," replied Enjolras. "If Javert is back on his feet, he's probably sending spies out to look for the rest of the amici. Especially us, since he's still trying to find Grantaire."

Grantaire pulled at a piece of grass, idly tied it around his finger. "If I have any guesses, the queen has already forgotten about me." He lied down in the grass, exhaling deeply. "If anything, my disappearance is a convenience for her. She's probably made a moving speech about how the evil rebels have kidnapped her only son. If she knew that I chose to associate with you, she would probably disown me."

"Is that what you want?" asked Enjolras.

Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras, smiling from where he laid in the grass. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Apollo."

"Look at that," Courfeyrac remarked. He pointed in the distance, where a number of birds were circling in the air. 

"What are those?" mused Enjolras. "Vultures?"

"I think so," replied Courfeyrac. "One, two, three..." he counted. "Twelve, I think?"

"It's a sign," said Grantaire. "Twelve means plebians."

"Tell me you don't believe in that nonsense," replied Enjolras. "That's all ancient."

"So you believe in ancient forms of government such democracy and a republic, but watching birds is beneath you?"

" _Yes_ ," replied Enjolras. "Because they're not--"

Grantaire waited for his lover to see his smirk, and when he did, Enjolras dropped the argument immediately, rolling his eyes.

***

That night, Enjolras slept in Grantaire's bed again. There was no further hiding it from Louison, and he didn't want Grantaire to have more nightmares. It confused him, then, when he awoke to a coldness, the space empty beside him. 

Glancing around the dark room, he noticed the door was open. He stood and went to crane his neck out into the corridor, seeing no movement from either end. Figuring Grantaire must have left for some bodily function or another, he closed the door and walked back to the foot of the bed, when he felt a cold breeze past his shoulders. 

The tall windows were wide open, letting in the ocean air. He approached them, about to close one when he happened to glance out on the shore. And there, in the moonlight, he could see a lone figure out on the beach. Even from that great distance, he had a strong suspicion who it was.

"Grantaire," he whispered.

***

After putting on some trousers and hastily slipping on his boots, he made his way downstairs and out of the building. He found the pathway leading down to the beach, and upon spotting Grantaire, standing still on the shore, he hurried down to his level.

"Grantaire!" he called, running to meet him. 

The man, clearly his likeness, did not respond. A wind blew through his nightshirt, and his eyes were wide open.

"Grantaire," Enjolras repeated, stopping a few feet before him. "What are you doing out here?"

"Enjolras?" Grantaire said quietly, still staring out at the ocean. Before Enjolras could say anything, Grantaire started walking towards the water, waves crashing over his bare feet. 

"Grantaire, wait!" cried Enjolras. "You can't swim!"

Grantaire didn't seem to listen. He took a few more steps, and Enjolras ran after him, his boots splashing in the water. He reached the prince when they were nearly waist deep, grabbing his shoulders. The other man collapsed immediately, taking them both down. 

The waves pushed them back, and Enjolras wrapped an arm around Grantaire's waist, pulling him back to shore.

"Enjolras," breathed Grantaire, once they were safely on dry sand. He coughed up a bit of seawater and finally glanced around the beach. "What are we doing out here?"

"You were sleepwalking," replied Enjolras. "We're lucky I was able to find you in time."

Grantaire nodded. He glanced up to Enjolras' worried expression, lines creasing his handsome features. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, and it's fine now, just--" Enjolras paused, taking a moment to bring Grantaire closer, kissing him deeply. The prince held onto him tighter, their shirts wet against their skin, hair damp against their necks. 

"We should get inside, Apollo," said Grantaire.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's *my* fanfic so *of course* it's going to have augury in it. And a beach scene like the one in The Little Mermaid (Enjolras is the mermaid). Anyways, thanks for reading thus far, and I will see you next week with another chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

When Enjolras awoke, the world was comfortably quiet. The room was warm; their clothes, previously damp with sea water, were laid out on the windowsill to dry. He tightened his arms around Grantaire, breathing a sigh of relief to feel his presence. 

Grantaire stirred, slowly rolling over to face him. Enjolras stayed still, watching him open his eyes. 

"Good morning," said the prince. His voice was deep and rich. When Enjolras didn't answer, a smile eased onto Grantaire's face, and he laughed. "You're always so serious."

Enjolras couldn't help but smile at that. Grantaire took his fist and pressed a gentle kiss into it. 

"I'm sorry about last night," he said, holding Enjolras' hand close to his chest. "I don't even remember what dream I was having. I just remember waking up--a-and you were there, and we were out on the beach, and--"

"It's alright," said Enjolras. "You're safe now."

Grantaire bit his lip, glancing away in shame. He still held onto Enjolras' hand. From where he lie on his pillow, he looked up at Enjolras with what could only be described as a joyful expression. "Is it strange to say I wish I could always wake up next to you?"

Enjolras studied his sincere expression for a moment and then, somehow, he was laughing, laughter he had no idea where from. He had never considered it, but he liked the idea very much.

"Alright," he said, finding his voice again. "If it pleases you, I suppose I can keep sleeping next to you at night."

"It does please me," said Grantaire. "You know what Javert would say?"

"What?"

"He would say that in a few years I should stop sleeping around and settle down to marry, and then it's my wife I should be sharing a bed with."

"I see."

"But I don't want to share a bed with anyone else. Just you."

"I wouldn't follow Javert's orders, then."

"Of course you wouldn't." Grantaire grinned. "You're one of a kind, Apollo."

"That and I have to keep his prince in line for him."

Grantaire laughed at that. He pressed another kiss into Enjolras' hand, and that was enough to invite Enjolras to lean in, their lips meeting for a warm kiss. 

Enjolras could still smell the essence of the sea in his hair. He wrapped an arm around Grantaire's torso, fingers running over the smooth, glistening skin, bringing him closer. 

"I'm going to teach you to swim," he murmured. 

"Okay," replied the prince, eyes closed as he drifted back to sleep. 

***

Enjolras meant it; of course he did. That afternoon, the sky was slightly overcast, but it was still warm, and they headed down to the beach. It took walking a ways until they found a peaceful cove secluded by rocky outcroppings on either side, giving privacy for a prince to strip naked. 

"Okay," said Enjolras, motioning for Grantaire to follow him into the water. 

Grantaire just stood there and stared. 

"Hello?" said Enjolras, waving his hands. "Don't get distracted, we have an agenda."

"Of course, Apollo," said Grantaire, blinking into a smile. He hurried after him, his feet splashing in the water. 

He froze, however, when the water reached past his knees. 

"Come on," said Enjolras, still several feet ahead of him, the water reaching his bare waist. He held out his hand. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Grantaire nodded, a warm tickling feeling spreading down his back. He stepped forward into the water, taking Enjolras' hand. 

"Alright," said Enjolras, and Grantaire felt him give his hand a squeeze. "Let's go just a bit deeper."

They made it further until the waves were gently pushing against their chests, Enjolras still holding Grantaire's hand under the water. 

"Come here," said Enjolras, gesturing to the space in the water in front of here. "Lie on your back. I'll hold you up."

Grantaire's first thoughts were skeptical, but he approached him nonetheless. Slowly, he laid back onto the surface of the water, feeling Enjolras' steady hand on the small of his back. 

"Next, you're going to stretch your arms and legs out and try to stay afloat." Enjolras' voice was low and comforting. 

Grantaire followed the instructions, and he felt panic every time he began to sink, but Enjolras remained calm, holding him up. 

"You're doing fine. Try to arch your back. There you go."

The panic Grantaire initially felt upon entering the water was starting to fade. Controlling his limbs, he felt himself sinking less quickly, able to bring himself back afloat.

Enjolras taught him the basic arm motions, how to tread water. Soon he could do a basic stroke, and Enjolras seemed immensely pleased. 

"I knew you would learn quickly," he said as they made their way back to shore, a radiant smile on his lips. "You're already so talented in other bodily pursuits."

Grantaire grinned. "What bodily pursuits do you mean?"

Enjolras's face turned bright red. "You know what I mean, like your--"

"--I know very well what you mean, Apollo," Grantaire interrupted him teasingly.

"--archery and fencing," Enjolras finished. He pouted for all of a second before his lips eased into a smile, and he laughed. "Yes, I suppose that, too."

Grantaire placed a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, and their eyes met. On the secluded beach, they shared a kiss, and bare skin brushing against each other. 

"Enjolras," Grantaire whispered low into his ear. "Do you think we could get something in before we have to meet Courfeyrac for dinner?"

Enjolras gave back a knowing smile. "We should hurry back to your room, then."

***

"What did you two get up to today?" Courfeyrac asked, cocking a smile over his roast pheasant dinner. "Did you go to the beach?"

"Enjolras is teaching me how to swim," Grantaire explained. Enjolras, on the other hand, remained quiet, tearing off a piece of bread. "I had a bit of an incident last night."

"Really?" asked Courfeyrac, his interest growing. "Do tell--or, I can leave it if Enjolras' face isn't to get any redder."

"It's fine," replied Enjolras. "Grantaire just decided to go for a stroll down to the beach in his sleep."

"It's true," Grantaire laughed. "It's a good thing Enjolras noticed in time that I was gone. Otherwise I may not be here speaking to you." His expression turned dramatically grave. 

"Is that so?" said Courfeyrac, his smile dropped for a frightened concern. "Well, we're quite fortunate to keep Enjolras around."

Enjolras just stared quietly into his plate. Somehow, he wasn't in the mood to be social.

Just then, Louison entered the room.

"My lord, there's someone at the door. Would you like to come answer it?"

Courfeyrac took a sip of his wine and waved a hand. "I think Enjolras should answer it."

Enjolras sat up, perplexed. "Me?"

"Yes, fearless leader. Go along, now."

The fearless leader in question rolled his eyes visibly, but nonetheless stood at his friend's request. He followed Louison to the entryway, which he still needed a bit of guidance to find, and there in the foyer stood--

"Combeferre!" Enjolras' face lit up to seeing his friends, Jehan running to give him a hug. "And Jehan, good to see you as well! I didn't know you were coming?"

"Courfeyrac didn't tell you?" said Combeferre, raising an eyebrow. "I bet he thinks surprises are more fun than trouble."

"Combeferre told me Courfeyrac asked him to come by, and I may have invited myself along," explained Jehan. "I couldn't let my friend just travel cross country by himself. Even if he grew up just down the road."

"It's good to see you, too, Jehan," said Enjolras, patting his friend on the shoulder. "I'm sure Courfeyrac will be delighted you came. We're just having dinner now."

"I imagine you must be hungry from your trip, sirs," remarked Louison. "I'll see about getting a few more place settings at the table. Enjolras, do you remember the way back to the dining room?"

"Thank you, Louison," replied Combeferre in spite of Enjolras' mildly fearful expression, "I can show him."

"Of course, Lord Combeferre." She nodded and subsequently disappeared into the kitchen. 

"I always forget that you two practically grew up together," remarked Enjolras as the three of them made their way down the corridor. 

"But my parents are not on holiday, and if word catches that I'm staying here..." Combeferre made a face. "I'd rather not."

"'Ferre tells me they're not too keen on his political ideas," Jehan supplied. 

Enjolras gave a satisfied smile. "Well, you're in good company here."

When they entered the dining room, Courfeyrac rose to meet his guests, "Combf---Jehan, is that you?!" He practically skipped to meet them.

Enjolras looked to Grantaire, who slowly rose from his seat with a quietly amused expression. 

"I hope it's not too much a burden that I came," said Jehan, much to Courfeyrac's gushing, "No, no, you're perfectly welcome here."

"R," said Combeferre, greeting the prince with a respectful head nod. Grantaire returned it. 

"R!" exclaimed Jehan. "You're here as well!" They sauntered over to greet him with a bow. Meanwhile, Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a handshake and a quiet, knowing exchange of glances. 

"I'm glad to see everyone reacquainted," said Enjolras, gathering the attention of his friends. "Now, tell me you have news from the city."

"Yes," replied Combeferre, reaching for a chair to sit down. Before he could, Louison hurried in and set down a plate and some silverware. "Thank you, ma'am," he told her. 

The rest of the friends took their seats, passing around some wine. 

Combeferre smoothed the wrinkles from the front of his shirt. "Since you left, the search for the missing prince lasted perhaps a day before the queen called it off, claiming he fled the country, and that it's no longer of importance."

Enjolras could hear Grantaire mutter " _I knew it_ " under his breath beside him.

"And what of Javert?" asked Enjolras.

"No idea," said Combeferre. "No one's seen or heard of him since we saw him at the Musain. Not that we think it's still safe to meet there. But--"

"Feuilly was the one who was able to gather some support," interrupted Jehan, a look of excitement on their face. "He passed out flyers around the various trades guilds, and they started meeting in the marketplace at night. We think they're going to revolt!"

Enjolras sat up at that. "And you just left them there in the city? Is this not something you want to take part in?"

"Of course we do, Enjolras," replied Combeferre. "We wanted to come tell you in person, since letters are too easily intercepted. The movement is still gathering support, I don't think they'll gain traction for yet another month."

"Then we need to go help them," replied Enjolras. 

"Excuse me," said Louison, and everyone turned their head towards the young woman, a look of concern on her face as she addressed Courfeyrac. "My lord, there's a man at the door. He's asking for you."

Courfeyrac frowned. "Who? Did he give his name?"

"No, my lord, but he said it was a matter of importance. He's with the royal guard. Tall, middle-aged, graying hair?"

The amici passed around looks of horror. 

"It's Javert, I'm certain," said Grantaire. 

"You don't think we were followed?" asked Jehan.

"Well, it can't be a coincidence," replied Combeferre. "We've only just gotten here. He must have seen us come in, at least."

"Louison," said Courfeyrac, turning to her with a grave expression. "What all did you tell him about the company staying here? Did he ask questions?"

Louison lowered her voice, leaning into the table so they could all hear her. "He did say he saw a carriage come in, and two people exit into the house. I just said that Lord Courfeyrac has some friends visiting from school."

Enjolras stood up. "He may not know that you're here, then," he said, addressing R. "Hurry, we need to hide you!"

"Louison, take his place setting away, if you would," Courfeyrac asked, and the maid complied. 

Looking around the room, Enjolras spotted the foot of the long tablecloth and lifted it up. "Here."

The prince nodded, disappearing under the table as Louison took his chair away and the rest of the amici readjusted their chairs to look as though they had been dining for four. 

"Good evening," called a voice, and the four of them turned their heads toward the door to see Javert, standing rather sternly, still wearing a dark outercoat. 

"Sir, you did not need to come here yourself," Louison remarked. "I would have escorted you after informing my lord of your arrival."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'm perfectly capable of leading myself," replied the man. 

"Welcome," said Courfeyrac, his voice flat but still polite as he rose from his chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, sir?"

"I hear you are keeping some students here," replied Javert, taking a stroll about the perimeter of the room. 

"Well, here we are," replied Enjolras. "Four students on holiday from school, seeking respite from the unrest in the city. Can you leave us in peace, now?"

"I should have you all arrested," replied Javert, sneering as he looked out the window. "Your little revolutionary group was particularly traitorous. But the queen has declared your efforts harmless, as the monarchy is strong as ever."

"Oh yes," replied Combeferre. "I'm sure Her Majesty is doing quite well for herself now that the prince has left the country--ah," he grimaced, probably from someone purposefully striking his shins under the table. 

"Yes," replied Javert, noticing neither the incident nor his sarcasm. "But here's the thing. I don't think he left the country. Not while his boyfriend is still here." He paused to tower over Enjolras in an intimidating manner. Enjolras, however, remained remarkably stoic. "In fact, I think the prince might be here, in this room even."

Enjolras looked up at him, his determined expression matched with a strong silence. 

Javert lifted an eyebrow with him, and in a few short steps, ran to the window to rip open a loose curtain. "It's all over, Grantaire! I know you're--"

His face fell to see the empty place between the curtains and the wall. Slowly, he turned towards the amici and their unamused expressions. 

"Seriously, now, sir," remarked Enjolras, "I was saddened as any lover would be when he abandoned me to flee the country, and now you're going to insult my grief by insinuating I'm--what? Hiding him behind some curtains?"

Javert looked rather embarrassed, hanging his head. After a few moments of silence, he replied. "Sorry to keep you. I'll let you all return to your dinner."

"Good day to you, too, Javert," Courfeyrac called from the head of the table. "A safe journey back to the city."

Javert bowed his head, and Louison escorted him from the room. The rest of the party waited until she returned alone, giving the message that Javert had gone.

"It's safe now," Enjolras said quietly, lifting up the end of the tablecloth. The prince crawled out and gratefully took a chair from Louison, collapsing in it with a rather exhausted expression. 

"I hope everything has been to your liking, Your Grace," she remarked with a curtsy, but he waved a hand at her. 

"Enough of that. I should like to go back to being no one of importance."

Louison didn't argue, but she didn't look convinced. "I'll bring you the rest of your dinner."

"What are we going to do?" Combeferre wondered aloud. 

"He's, right," said Enjolras, turning to Grantaire. "You can't stay here safely. We've been compromised."

"But where else would I go?" said Grantaire. "It's not safe anywhere. Unless I really did leave the country."

Enjolras frowned, his expression quiet. "If you must leave, I can't go with you. I need to return to the city to aid the uprising."

"Then I'll go with you," said Grantaire, his eyes pleading. Enjolras tried not to look at them. 

"You can't return to the city. There are guards everywhere. Surely you would be spotted."

"But there's an uprising," said Grantaire. "They're my people, too. My country needs me." He took Enjolras' hands, and concluded with resolve, "I'm going with you. If you'll permit it."

Enjolras looked into his eyes, a bright passion behind them. He found himself smiling. "A prince is asking me for permission?" he remarked in a quiet amusement. 

Grantaire smiled back in satisfaction. 

"We'll have to find a different way back to the city," said Enjolras. "Javert no doubt has spies along the roads."

"Then we will take a ship," said Grantaire. He turned to Courfeyrac. "There must be a port nearby?"

Courfeyrac nodded. "I can arrange for you to make passage up the coast. Hopefully a bribe and a disguise will be enough."

***

It was early morning as Enjolras and Grantaire arrived at the docks of the small port town, dressed in plain clothes and caps, showing their papers to the Harbourmaster. 

"Dock workers are just that way," she said, pointing to the line of similarly dressed men who were travelling two and from the ship with crates. "You get paid AFTER the cargo is unloaded at port."

They nodded and did as they were told, moving in line with the other labourers. 

"It was brilliant of Jehan to suggest this," remarked Enjolras, picking up a particularly bulky chest. "But I think they forgot how out of shape I am."

"Enough complaining," the prince teased him, easily lifting a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder. "Just a hundred more trips carrying things, and then it will be smooth sailing from there. Literally."

"I sure hope so," said Enjolras, shifting under the weight of his burden.

***

The sun was beginning to set and Grantaire approached Enjolras, the wind rippling through his hair as he leaned on the ship's railing, watching as the coast passed by in the distance. 

"What's on your mind, Apollo?" he asked quietly, leaning beside him. 

Enjolras turned around, leaning his back against the railing and sighing. He pulled the brim of his cap over his eyes. "I just hope history hasn't happened without me."

"You are making history," said Grantaire. "You've already made history."

Enjolras said nothing. A breeze blew the sea-smelling air over them. Grantaire turned towards the railing, watching the horizon. 

"What's that?" he remarked, perplexed. "Is that ship approaching?" He saw the royal colors on its flag as it came closer, and his stomach dropped. "Enjolras," he said, shaking the man's shoulder. 

Enjolras muttered a curse under his breath. "We should get below deck."

Grantaire nodded. 

Once they were safely huddled in the hull with the rest of the crew, they felt as the ship came to a stop. 

"Do you think they would board us?" whispered Grantaire. Enjolras shrugged. 

"Attention!" 

The crew looked up as the captain descended into the hold carrying a lantern. "Has anyone seen any stowaways on board? The royal fleet is looking for anyone matching the missing prince's description."

A series of whispers spread through the crew. Grantaire felt Enjolras' fingers clasp around his arm.

"I'll add this," said the captain, "they're offering a reward of 10,000 ducats for his return!"

"Here he is!" called a voice. 

The captain turned around with his lantern to see one of the crew members pushing forward his mate, who happened to match the general description of Grantaire. 

"Excellent," replied the captain. "You stay here, and I'll see if I can leverage a deal with them."

Grantaire watched him leave, and he and Enjolras remained deathly silent. After about twenty minutes, the captain still hadn't returned. 

"Do you think they don't believe him?" wondered Enjolras.

That question was messaged with a loud _CRACK!_ on the far side of the ship. 

"What's going on?!" someone shouted in the dark.

A deckhand appeared from the stairs, calling to the men below. "They're trying to sink the ship! It's every man for himself!"

Enjolras and Grantaire looked to each other with fright. 

"I guess they did believe him," Grantaire remarked. 

"And now they want you dead," Enjolras concluded. "We need to get out of here."

They hurried to the deck to see where the other ship had moved a safe distance away and was now firing their cannons on the cargo vessel. Dozens of crewmates were crowding around the lifeboats, trying to squeeze as many people on board before lowering them into the water. 

"We're not going to fit, there's too many of us," said Grantaire. 

"I know, we'll just have to--"

Just as Enjolras spoke, the ship lurched under canonfire.

"Enjolras!" Grantaire called in vain as he watched as the other man was thrown from the railing towards the water.

Peering down with fright, he saw bubbles reaching towards the surface where Enjolras had fallen in. Around him, the crew ran back and forth in chaos. Unsure what else to do, he jumped in after the man, tucking his legs and feeling the water evade him in a thunderous _splash_ , and then he, too, sank beneath the waves. 

In the dim blue light of the water, Grantaire held his breath, glancing around frantically. Several feet beneath him, he spotted a figure that was unmistakably Enjolras, unconscious and sinking deeper. He saw the murky depths of the water, those he had avoided his entire life. Shoving his fear down his throat, he dove after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. I had planned for this chapter to be more of an anime filler episode, but I got bored so I added in some adventure. See you next week when I *most definitely* will come back to this cliffhanger!


	11. Intermission: Bahorel and Feuilly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Lots of sexual innuendos because have you ever talked to gays in person

"And that's what happens when you let Enjolras into the kitchens," Bahorel said, finishing the story. Jehan was a riot of laughter, and Feuilly let out a chuckle, imagining Enjolras trying to pass as one of the kitchen servants. He glanced towards their fearless leader, who was now having what looked to be a serious conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. And, as if he had heard they were talking about them, Enjolras made eye contact. 

Feuilly focused quietly on the drink in his hand as the leader approached their table, looking serious as ever.

"Bahorel," he said, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Feuilly looked to the trainer, who contrasted Enjolras' expression with a wide grin, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Of course, _Enjolras_. What is it?"

He stood and they disappeared over to the side of the room. 

"Hey," said Jehan, an equally delighted smile on their face as they leaned in closer to Feuilly. "I heard that earlier? 'They have some neat daggers on display in the window in the market district. I could show you if you'd like'?" They mocked his voice in a hushed tone. "I bet you want to see _his_ dagger."

"Shut up," said Feuilly, the corner of his lips curved into a smile. "He literally just came from Eponine's. I don't think daggers are his preference."

"But you'll take him out anyway?" said Jehan. They looked over to where Enjolras and Bahorel were having a similarly hushed conversation. Enjolras kept looking to the far corner of the room, where R was laughing with Joly, Bossuet passed out with his bald head on the table. He could hear Bahorel laugh deeply, and looked over to where he was leaning against the window, arms folded, making visible the defined muscles in his biceps. 

"Feuilly?"

"Yeah, I'm going to take him to go see them," said Feuilly, returning to their conversation, a small annoyance in his voice that Jehan would ask in the first place. "It's something we're both interested in."

"And if he were interested in more?"

"I suppose I wouldn't say no."

***

"There's a strong debate among the gentlemen of court what kind of dagger is best. Not that I've used one in a fight; if I'm at a tavern, I mostly rely on my fists."

Feuilly laughed as he listened to his newest companion, the two of them making their way down a narrow city street in the moonlight. 

"I try to stay out of trouble," said Feuilly, noticing his boots tapping on the pavement as they walked. "I need my hands for my work."

"Yes, I bet you use your hands for plenty else," said Bahorel.

The air went silent, and Feuilly hoped Bahorel couldn't see him blush in the dark. 

"Because--because of your work," Bahorel added quickly, sounding embarrassed if Feuilly ever imagined he could be. 

Feuilly just smiled and shook his head. "Of course," he said, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "A man has to keep bread on the table."

They reached the market district, but through the shop's windows, they could only make out shadows. 

"I suppose I didn't consider that," remarked Bahorel, peering through the dark windows. 

"Right," said Feuilly, "My workshop's just two doors down. I'll grab us a lamp."

Bahorel nodded and followed him, ending with Feuilly taking a keyring from his pocket and unlocking the tall doors. 

The pottery studio had a spacious ceiling, and rows and rows of shelves containing various pots and wares were illuminated by the soft glow of a kiln in the back. As Bahorel lingered in the entryway to the shop, taking in his surroundings, Feuilly found the series of lamps he had spent the day making. After carefully pouring in some oil, he threaded in a wick and lit it, returning to Bahorel, whose expression similarly ignited. 

"That's brilliant!" he replied. "Shall we?"

They returned to the smithy, this time able to see all the weapons on display under the light of the little flame. 

"These are neat," said Bahorel, surveying one of the more intricately inlaid blades. "I've seen some people coming from court with cinquedea like these. It's all for show, though, I don't think they'd be that effective in a fight."

"You think so?" mused Feuilly.

"The blade is too wide at the hilt. It's unwieldy. Something narrower like this stiletto," said Bahorel, pulling a blade from his side, "It's much easier to penetrate the weak spots between plates of armor."

"I see," said Feuilly. He reached out his hands. "May I?"

"Of course," said Bahorel, handing it to him. 

Feuilly inspected the thin blade, careful not to cut himself. He admired the decorative carvings on the hilt. "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of this," he joked, handing it back to the other man. 

"Yes, indeed," said Bahorel, sliding back into its scabbard. "A nasty weapon. I never hope that I have to use it, but just in case."

Feuilly nodded. The cool night air went silent again, and they studied the daggers behind the window for another moment. 

"Maybe they're not practical," said Bahorel. "But they're quite nice. A way to show off one's wealth."

"That's for sure," said Feuilly. "This one is perhaps my favorite, with the inlaid gold. Probably costs my entire salary five times over."

"If there weren't metal bars behind the glass, I would break it for you," said Bahorel in a smooth tone that made Feuilly laugh. 

They continued to walk along the stalls, Feuilly holding a hand around the wick of the lamp so that it wouldn't extinguish.

"Do you sell a lot of those?" Bahorel asked. "I think I've mainly seen candles in the palace."

"We do," replied Feuilly. "People take them to leave in the catacombs."

"The catacombs?" Bahorel cocked an eyebrow. "Have you been?"

"Of course," said Feuilly. He gave a laugh. "They're a nice quiet place to visit. When I have the time."

"Can you take me there?" said the other man, and seeing his handsome profile in the warm light, Feuilly couldn't dare say no. 

"They're not far from here. Follow me."

***

Once Feuilly found the entrance behind a temple, they descended into the dark labyrinth of tunnels.

"Do people get lost in here?" Bahorel, peering down each branching corridor they passed. 

"Yes," said Feuilly. "So you'll want to stay close by."

Bahorel gave an easy laugh. "Alright, then. You seem to know your way around."

They continued further into the tunnels, finding the solitude a welcoming place to talk.

"I'm glad you came to the meeting," said Feuilly. "I didn't expect Enjolras to bring guests."

Bahorel grinned. "Well, it's sort of a funny story. I've seen R sneak him into the palace a few times, and at some point I had to ask where he finds such pretty boys."

Feuilly smiled, if a bit shy as he watched his step down into another chamber. "Yes, that's Enjolras. I'm sure all of the amici have lusted over him at one point or another. But I doubt he's ever caught onto it."

"Really," said Bahorel, lifting one eyebrow. "What do you think he's doing right now? Or _who_ do you think he's doing, I should say."

Feuilly glanced up with a surprised grin. "What? No..."

"R was sneaking him into his chambers for more reason than one," said Bahorel with a sly smile. Suddenly, he dropped it. "Or--shit. I've said too much. You didn't hear that," he pleaded. 

Feuilly smiled and shook his head. "Whatever it is, your secret is safe with me."

He stopped, his hands tracing the side of a lamp which had been left burning at the foot of one of the loculi.

"That one's nice," said Bahorel.

Feuilly nodded. "I made the master copy for this one."

"You did?" said Bahorel, and Feuilly felt warmth at his pleasant surprise, surely a compliment. "How can you tell--well, I suppose if you look at them all day."

"That's true," conceded Feuilly, "But also, here," he said, tracing his hand along the side of the clay boat, which was carved with a leaf pattern. "It's sort of my signature."

"I see," said Bahorel, inspecting closer with interest. "That's very clever."

They reached another room, and Feuilly knelt before a simple urn, setting down the oil lamp in front of its inscription.

"Someone you know?" asked Bahorel. 

"My mother," said Feuilly without looking up. "I've been meaning to visit."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he heard the other man lament. 

After a brief silence, he stood up again. "We weren't very close," Feuilly explained. "She died when I was very young. Both my parents, actually."

Bahorel frowned. Feuilly scratched at the back of his neck, wondering if maybe this was not the time and place to have brought it up. 

"You seem to be doing well for yourself," Bahorel remarked quietly. "I'm sure they would be proud."

Feuilly nodded. "Thank you. I've never understood why people have things I don't have. And still there are things I have that other people don't. It's why I got involved with the amici. Everyone deserves a fair chance in life." 

Bahorel frowned, and for the first time Feuilly had seen it, he had this strange look in his eyes, the usual mirth replaced with an intense sadness. "You're right. I've lived at the palace, I've seen how they treat--how they treat the prince. It's not fair, but over there, it's not like I can openly question it. I guess I just came out here for some fresh air. I'm glad I did."

Feuilly glanced up and their eyes met, and without debating it any further, he leaned in and planted a kiss on the other man's lips. 

It was quick and simple, and when he pulled away, he half expected Bahorel to pretend like nothing happened. But instead, a wide grin grew on his face. 

"It's about time," he said, his low voice enough to make Feuilly laugh. 

He leaned in again, enjoying being able to snake his arms around the other man's sufficiently chiseled physique, Bahorel inhaling his kisses until finally pulling back with a very drunken laughter, saying, 

"Don't we have any other place to do this besides in front of your mother's ashes?"

Feuilly gave a harsh laugh, a blush spreading to his forehead. "Right. I live alone in the attic space above the workshop, if you want to head back now."

***

They hastily made their way back through the catacombs--Feuilly glad he didn't accidentally get them lost on the way-- and back to the pottery studio. He led his companion up the stairs and into his bed, where there was plenty of warmth to be shared. 

When he woke up to the dull morning light, feeling Bahorel's chest rising and falling beside him, he reveled in the moment, dreading when he would need to get up and start his work. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind swimming in thoughts.

When Bahorel stirred, Feuilly lie perfectly still, watching as the man sat up slightly, his eyes adjusting to the light, hair plastered to one side of his face. When he saw Feuilly, however, he grinned. 

"Good morning, handsome."

Feuilly laughed at that. "Good morning to you, too. I don't want to kick you out, but I have to start work soon." 

He followed the look in Bahorel's eyes, and it hurt to see what seemed like disappointment. "You're welcome to stay," Feuilly added, "but--"

"No, no," said Bahorel, lifting a hand. "I should be getting back to the palace. Who knows when His Grace will need to practice targets." 

Feuilly shook his head slightly. "Fuck the prince," he concluded, his gaze finding a spot at the end of the bed. 

At that, Bahorel erupted into the deepest belly laughter. Feuilly looked to him with mild confusion.

"I agree with you in that he doesn't deserve his wealth and position of power," explained Bahorel. "But it happens that he's also my closest, dearest friend."

Feuilly was silent for a moment. A thought crossed his mind, and being in the moment of their intimate conversation, he asked, "Have you and the prince ever, have you shared, then?" Immediately after asking, he felt himself regret it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed--"

"It's not an odd question," replied Bahorel in a tone of assurance. "But no. Luckily, we're neither of each other's type. And, him being prince, he's always had plenty of pretty girls, occasionally men to choose from."

Feuilly nodded in understanding. 

Bahorel sat up, pulling back the covers. "Well, I'm sure I've overstayed my welcome by now. I should get going."

Feuilly didn't argue as he began pulling on his trousers. In fact, he began to do the same, pulling a shirt on over his head. 

When they were both fully dressed, Bahorel took him by the elbow, giving it sturdy grip with both hands. "It's been a pleasure. Perhaps I'll see you at one of the meetings."

Feuilly gave a nod. "Perhaps."

Bahorel nodded similarly, but just before he reached the top of the stairs, Feuilly called to him. "Wait!"

He watched as those eyes, veiled in handsome long eyelashes, stared back at them, his posture taking a jaunty stance as he rested his weight on the railing. "Yes?"

"You're welcome to visit again," said Feuilly. "Any time you like."

Bahorel grinned. "I'll hold you to that," he replied, and with that, he left. 

***

When Feuilly entered the workshop, he found it mostly empty. The other apprentice was gone, and his maester was in the process of hanging his apron on the wall. 

"What's going on?" he asked, stepping off of the stairs. 

"Something on Capitol Hill," replied his boss. "Word has just reached us about it. They're going to make a royal announcement. You can stay and watch the shop, can't you?"

Feuilly closed his jaw tightly, hiding a sigh. 

***

It was late night as Feuilly sat at the pottery-wheel, his attention draw to the piece he was making. A week had passed since the last meeting, the days following it where Jehan came by with news of the prince's true identity. Even though he had days to think it over, the thought still bubbled up about Bahorel, his visit. What he said about the prince. _"He's my closest, dearest friend."_ Of course, he dreamt of the man making good on his idle words that he would come visit again, but Feuilly seriously doubted that would happen. A friend of the prince did not have time for a poor craftsman. 

It seemed like hours had left him when he heard a knock on the door of the shop. 

He paused and sat up, still in a daze from his brain switching tasks that he wondered if he had imagined it, but then he heard it again very clearly. 

He stood and wiped his hands on his apron with a sigh. Taking a small flame, he approached the door, throwing it open to say, "Look, it's obvious that we're closed, so--"

"Hello," said Bahorel. His face was missing its usual color, looking more serious, tired. "Can I come in?"

It took Feuilly a moment to register from the surprise, but then he stepped back. "Of course."

"I thought I saw you working through the window," said Bahorel, once the door was closed behind him. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Should I be asking you the same thing?" Feuilly answered flatly. 

Bahorel glanced away, his lips devoid of his usual charming grin. "I wanted to apologise."

"What for?" asked Feuilly. 

"I lied to you."

"About what?"

"You know R is the prince."

"Oh, that," Feuilly said, his words drifting apart in the air like clouds. "You have nothing to apologise for. You were just trying to protect your friend."

"Oh." Bahorel looked relieved. His posture straightened, although his look of concern had not gone completely. "Yes. Thank you. I was wondering, could I stay here for the night? I know it's some trouble, and I don't want to be a burden, so if not, I can go somewhere else, it's just I thought I would ask you, and--"

"Alright," said Feuilly. 

"Alright?" repeated Bahorel, looking astonished. He breathed a sigh of relief and took Feuilly's hand in his. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble," said Feuilly. "It's good to see you again. Are you hungry? I was just finishing up here; we can go upstairs and sit down."

"That would be lovely," replied Bahorel. He smiled. "And it's good to see you, too."

***

"I wanted to come sooner. Things have been different at the palace," Bahorel explained as they sat down at a little table and chairs in Feuilly's apartment. Chairs consisting of one chair, which he gave to Bahorel, and a crate. It had been a long time since had had company. Or company that wanted to sit down and talk. 

"It's no trouble," said Feuilly, tearing off a bite of bread. He watched Bahorel pour himself a tall glass of wine. "Did something happen?"

Bahorel took a long sip before setting the glass down again. "Sorry, I'll-I'll pay you back for that. Or something. But yes. The palace isn't safe anymore."

Feuilly raised his eyebrows. 

"Someone tried to assassinate R. And not one of the amici this time, he said it was someone he didn't recognise. But here's the thing, when he left chambers, his bodyguards were missing. Not dead, missing."

Feuilly followed his eyes. "You think it was an inside job?"

Bahorel nodded. "When we left the place, there was almost no one around. Except for the guard at the gate. I had to sneak him out in disguise. He's at Eponine's with Enjolras now."

"I see," said Feuilly. It was a lot to process.

"I don't know when it will be safe to go back to the palace," said Bahorel. "Once they see that I'm missing, they'll probably make the connection that I was involved. Regardless, I'm only safe in my employment so long as R is at the palace, and who knows when he will go back. My guess is he won't." 

Feuilly was silent for a moment, watching his companion sit on the edge of his seat, more unnerved than anything. "You can stay here," he said quietly. "As long as you need to. And don't worry about the wine. I may be poor, but I'm no spendthrift."

"Feuilly," said Bahorel, "You're too kind. I wasn't even planning to stay here. I just wanted to talk to you."

Feuilly shook his head. "Like I said. It's no trouble at all."

Bahorel fidgeted with the ring on his little finger. He glanced over to the wall, where Feuilly had a modest collection of books. "Are those yours?"

Feuilly nodded. "I've been lucky to collect a few."

Bahorel frowned. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed that you didn't go to school."

"I didn't," replied Feuilly. "I'm self taught."

"Remarkable." Bahorel was silent for a strange moment. "I should have paid more attention in school," he finally admitted. Feuilly laughed at that.

***

They stayed up a great deal longer, talking about life, the state of the world. When it came time to lie down, Feuilly told Bahorel to take his bed and that he would sleep on the floor, but Bahorel told him, if it wasn't too much trouble, he wouldn't mind it if Feuilly lied next to him. So they slept shoulder-to-shoulder.

When Feuilly woke again, it was well past midday. He had to admit, it was quite charming to see Bahorel sit up all of a sudden, hair a muss and eyes wide open.

"Feuilly," he whispered, surprised to find him already awake. "Oh. Did you need to go to work? I'm sorry if I kept you last night."

"Relax," said Feuilly with a laugh. "I don't work today. There is another meeting with the amici later if you're interested."

"Right," said Bahorel, slouching back with relief. "Yes, I can go with you."

"Good," said Feuilly. 

Their eyes met for a split second, and that was all Bahorel needed to take Feuilly's face in his hands and kiss him. He pulled away, this time with one of Feuilly's hands tugging at his shoulder, asking for more. The two men were lying in bed together, and Feuilly couldn't deny the feeling of the other man against his leg. They shared another kiss, and at some point, Bahorel whispered into his ear, 

"I don't want to make a bad impression by being late to the meeting, but there are other things I'd like to be doing right now."

Feuilly laughed. "I'm sure they would understand," he replied, his well worn hands reaching up, combing through the hair on the back of Bahorel's head.

They were late to the meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay so I lied, I wasn't going to resolve the cliffhanger this chapter. I promise next week we'll find out if they live or not. But anyway, thanks for reading so far and stay safe out there!
> 
> I will post a sneak preview of the next chapter but no one can read it, ONLY Broadway_trashdump because I'm sorry:   
> <https://preliminary-gayeties.tumblr.com/post/629202662906380288/grantaire-enjolras-enjolras-are-you>


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: domestic abuse mentions

"Enjolras? Enjolras, are you awake?"

It was dark when Enjolras opened his eyes, sitting up to cough up seawater. 

"Enjolras!"

In an instant, he was enveloped in a warm embrace, which was much needed to spread heat to his shivering body. He could see a figure looming over him, the figure he knew could be no other than--

"Grantaire," he said, his voice weak. 

The prince tightened his hold on Enjolras' shoulders. "Yes, it's me. You're alright. I was able to pull you out of the water while the ship was sinking."

Enjolras was silent, trying to process what had happened. He remembered being on board with Grantaire, the ship being attacked, he remembered seeing a sky of ocean for a split second before it smacked his head like stone. Now, he looked up at Grantaire, the man's face glimmering in the moonlight. 

"You...you swam after me?"

Grantaire nodded quickly. "Yes, I jumped in after you. Scared the living shit out of me, seeing you sinking like that. But then I remembered what you taught me, and I swam towards you and pulled you to the surface and now here we are!" He stopped to catch his breath.

Enjolras looked around the deserted beach, which was entirely dark. "You," he breathed, turning his attention back to Grantaire. "You saved my life."

Grantaire smiled and shook his head. "You taught me everything, Apollo. I didn't know how to swim before."

Enjolras similarly shook his head. He reached out and pulled Grantaire close again, finding comfort that he could hear the prince's heartbeat. 

It was a long time before either of them spoke again. 

"Where are we?" Enjolras murmured, not that he expected Grantaire to have an answer. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," said Grantaire.

Enjolras looked up and down the deserted beach. "We can't have ended up too far. There," he said, pointing as he noticed a light in the distance, a ways uphill from the shore. A small dwelling. 

Grantaire nodded. "Let's go."

As they walked in the dark, Enjolras swore he felt Grantaire's hand slip past his, and the thought crossed his mind of taking Grantaire's hand in his. He shrugged it off.

"Do you think we should send a letter to Courfeyrac?" Grantaire wondered. "Ask him to send some money for us to travel."

"It's too risky," replied Enjolras. "We'll have to find our own way."

Grantaire nodded. 

When they reached the small farmhouse, passing a barn of sleeping animals on the way, Enjolras knocked on the door. After a moment, they heard movement from the other side, and it creaked open.

"Hello?" a woman about their age was standing at the door, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. "Can I help you?"

"Hello," Enjolras answered calmly back. "We're dockworkers, and we were in a shipwreck," he explained. "Do you know how to get to the nearest town?"

"A shipwreck? That would make sense," she said, glancing them both up and down. It was then Enjolras realised what shabby condition they must have looked, water-stained clothes and no belongings to speak of. Enjolras was missing a shoe. "The town is just up the road, but it's not safe to travel at night. Why don't you come in? Surely, you must be hungry."

"We haven't any money," said Enjolras.

"It's no trouble," she said with a smile. "We had a plentiful harvest this year. I made too much for dinner, anyway. And I've been needing an excuse to open another bottle of wine."

"If you're sure--"

"We'll graciously accept your hospitality," Grantaire answered for him, placing a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. 

The young woman gave an amused smile at that. 

They followed her into a small but cozy kitchen, where they sat down at a wooden table. From a pot hanging over a fire, the woman ladled some stew into a few bowls and passed it to them, and set out some freshly baked bread. An old sword rested on the mantle of the fireplace.

"My name's Musichetta, by the way," she said, sitting down to watch them eat. Grantaire had already practically inhaled half of his bowl's contents. "Have you been at sea for long?"

"No," answered Enjolras. "It's rather unfortunate. Our trip was only supposed to take a day." He cautiously glanced up at her. "My name's Enjolras, by the way."

"Enjolras," repeated Musichetta. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

"I'm R," said Grantaire, standing up to hold out his hand with a grin. 

Musichetta laughed, shaking it. "Nice to meet you, R."

Grantaire sat back down. "And thanks again for dinner," he said, pouring himself some wine. "We really appreciate it."

"Like I said, it's no trouble," she answered, perhaps not noticing as Enjolras tugged on Grantaire's sleeve. "Where are you traveling to?"

"We have business in the capitol," said Enjolras.

"Business in the capital?" repeated Musichetta with interest. "For dock workers, you sound very sophisticated."

Enjolras frowned. "You think because we're of the lower class, we should talk a certain way?"

"No," replied Musichetta. "Just something I noticed is all."

"This food is really good," said Grantaire, swallowing his last morsel of bread. "Do you live here alone?"

"Thank you," replied the woman. "And no, I live here with my husband. He's already gone to bed, and I'd rather not wake him."

"I see," said Enjolras. "We don't want to impose."

"Not at all," said Musichetta. "I'm sure it's alright if you need to stay the night. We have an extra bedroom, although the two of you might have to fit into one bed."

"It's no trouble," said Grantaire, smiling and waving a hand. 

Enjolras frowned, however. "You're sure your husband is okay with it?"

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding a little tense. "It's rather isolated out here in the country. We always appreciate the company when travelers pass by."

Enjolras nodded quietly. 

"You're very kind," said Grantaire.

The woman smiled.

***

When Grantaire woke, he felt warm and at peace, Enjolras' naked arms wrapped around him, his own arms doing the same to Enjolras. The bed they shared was cozy, and the rosy glow of dawn crept over the covers. Their clothes were laid out to dry by the window.

He felt Enjolras stir, and immediately, they both retracted their arms in realisation of the pact they had made the night before. _We shouldn't get too close_ , Enjolras had said. _We don't need any reason for our hosts to be suspicious of us_. 

"Good morning," Grantaire said in a low voice, their gazes resting upon each other once they had put a more sufficient bit of room between them on the mattress. "How did you sleep?"

"A little too well, I guess," said Enjolras. 

Grantaire couldn't help but smile at that. "And I, as well."

Just then, there was a knock on the door, enough to make Grantaire jump a hair.

"Who is it?" Enjolras called decidedly.

"It's me," answered Musichetta's voice. "Breakfast is ready if you're up for it."

Enjolras shot Grantaire a relieved look. "Thank you," he called back. "We'll be out in a minute."

They heard sounds of her footsteps fading. 

"That was close," said Grantaire.

Enjolras swallowed and nodded. "We'll need to be more careful from now on."

After dressing very quietly, the pair returned to the kitchen, Grantaire trailing behind Enjolras a few steps to make their angle of "we just work together" more believable.

"Good morning!" Grantaire heard a man's voice call as Enjolras entered the kitchen. "Chetta tells me you stayed the night and--"

The man fell silent when he laid eyes upon Grantaire. For a moment, the prince wondered if he had been found out, but then the man of the house just gathered his obscenely wide grin again and continued. "We're always so fortunate to have visitors. Visitors from all over. Come, have a seat, Chetta's just cooked breakfast."

Grantaire passed a glance to the woman, who glanced back, oddly silent as she went about setting the table.

He and Enjolras took a seat on one side of the table, watching Musichetta's apparent husband stretch his legs over the bench to sit down. 

"Chetta tells me you're sailors who were shipwrecked," he said, more to Enjolras. "I'm Babet, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Enjolras," said Enjolras. "And this is R. We were headed to the capitol when our ship was attacked. It were rather unfortunate circumstances."

"I see," said Babet, hardly looking up as Musichetta set down a cup of tea in front of him. He took a sip. "Ah!" he exclaimed, handing it back. "More cream."

Without a word, she poured some in and handed it back. Babet drank it without complaint. Musichetta went back to filling several bowls with a delicious-smelling mixture of egg, cheese, and tomato. 

"So, the capitol, eh?" said Babet, flashing his teeth in a half grin. "A fine city. What business do you have there?"

"Just looking for work," said R, trying to remain casual. 

"I imagine it's hard for you," said Enjolras, "what with the new taxes imposed on farmers such as yourself."

Babet's face changed, a mixture of anger and pleasant surprise in understanding. "Yes. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what the queen thinks she's doing these days. She's trying to bleed the country dry."

Grantaire glanced up at that, but was quickly distracted by Musichetta handing him a plate, which he gladly began eating. 

"I think we're all in agreement about that," said Enjolras. "Or, I think she's trying to bleed the working citizens dry. The senators and ruling families all seem to keep their pensions just fine."

"Exactly," said Babet, lifting his fork from his meal to point it forcefully in gesture. "Say, if you want to wait another day to travel, and you want to make some coin, I have a few chores on the farm I could use help with. What do you say? It's nice to have around some like minded folk."

Enjolras passed a glance to Grantaire, who frowned in consideration and gave a shrug of approval. 

"It would be good to have some money after we lost everything in the shipwreck," said Enjolras. "You have a deal."

The rest of breakfast was uneventful, Enjolras and Babet sharing a few more insights and choice words about the current government. Grantaire managed to slip in a few jokes about the royal family (as he was the expert), including one quip about how the queen might do better to turn her parasol upside down to shield herself from the people, rather than the sun. But Grantaire also noticed that Musichetta, so lively in conversation the night previous, was now entirely silent, in stark contrast to her husband loud guffaws. 

The rest of the day was work, but he and Enjolras worked at a leisurely pace, picking grapes under the warm autumn sun. Placing a handful more grapes in his satchel and pausing to take in the rolling hillside, punctuated by a blue line of coast in the distance, Grantaire wondered how he lived in a country for so long, his entire life, and yet it seemed he had missed out on so much. 

When they returned to the house, Babet came out to greet them. 

"Absolutely lovely," he gushed, seeing Enjolras' basket. "You fellows can leave them on the table here. Oh! Let me get your payment, as promised." He disappeared into the house. He returned with two pouches, clinking with the promising sound of gold. 

"Here you are," he said, handing one pouch to Enjolras with a wide smile. Enjolras took it with a nod.

"And for you," he said, handing the second to Grantaire. Grantaire smiled and took the pouch with a sincere "thank you."

"You can go ahead and wash up for supper," said Babet to the both of them. "Chetta should have it ready soon."

***

"I can't believe it," Grantaire mused, passing his coins from one hand to the other, sitting on the foot of the bed in the spare bedroom. "The first time I've earned money the honest way. Without the help of my family name."

"I'm proud of you," remarked Enjolras, standing nearby at a washstand, dabbing at himself with a damp cloth. "Maybe it should be a requirement for rulers to spend some time doing manual labour. That way, they understand how it feels."

"Well, this was more of a vacation. Having to make a living off of it is different, I imagine." said Grantaire. He laughed. "What can one even buy with five ducats?"

"Five?" Enjolras turned around, a mild surprise on his face.

"I think I know how to count, Apollo," replied the prince with a grin. "My tutors did teach me maths. Or at least, they made a solid attempt."

"No," said Enjolras. "I mean, he only gave you five ducats?"

"Yes," said Grantaire, watching Enjolras sit on the bed next to him, pulling out his own pouch. "Why?"

"He gave me twelve," said Enjolras, dumping the evidence onto the blanket. He was right. He had twelve.

"Maybe it was a mistake," said Grantaire. He gave a devilish grin. "Maybe _he's_ bad at maths."

Enjolras smiled at that, but remained quiet in response.

Musichetta never came to tell them about supper, but at some point, the air smelled so savoury and fragrant, they decided to go to the kitchen anyway. 

"Hello again!" Babet's voice greeted them. "Enjolras, why don't you sit down. Actually, I brought you something. I saw you were missing a shoe?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well, the shipwreck--"

"Say no more," said Babet, lifting a hand. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. I shouldn't have let you toil in the fields in your bare feet. Here, it's the least I can do."

He produced a pair of newly sewn leather shoes and handed them to Enjolras. 

"I can't accept these," said Enjolras, giving a polite smile. 

"Like I said, it's the least I can do," said Babet. "Chetta's hand slipped and she cut the pieces too small for my...generously sized feet," he said, laughing at his own joke. 

Unsure what else to say, Enjolras nodded awkwardly, and took them from him. "Thanks."

"Of course," said Babet, taking his place at the table. "Come sit down, I'm sure you're tired from working out there."

"Thanks," Enjolras said again, slowly sitting down at the table. He began to put on the shoes he had been given. "It smells delicious."

"That would be Chetta's doing," said Babet, gesturing to the woman quietly chopping herbs on the other side of the room. "I'm glad you could join us."

"Good," said Grantaire, beginning to sit down. 

"Excuse me," said Babet in an abrupt manner that nearly made the prince jump. "I hope it's not too much trouble, but would you mind fetching a pail of water from the well outside? Chetta's hands are tied."

Grantaire blinked. "Alright," he answered, entirely unsure how he was to complete such a task. 

Musichetta passed him a wooden bucket. "It's just up the hill," she told him, and he nodded. 

A chill wind was in the air outside, long shadows stretching over the landscape. He hiked up a small dirt path to the well on the hill, and then stopped to peer down the long, dark shaft with apprehension. 

"Need some help?"

Grantaire jumped to see Musichetta coming up the hill behind him. 

"Um, perhaps," he said, glancing down the well once more. "It's just--I'm afraid of heights, and, and, drowning, is--"

Without another word, she took the bucket from him and hooked it on the mechanism, and then began pulling the crank to lower it down. 

"Drowning?" she said with a smirk. "I thought you said you were a sailor."

Grantaire shook his head. "Look, it was a one time thing, and I'm never going near water again. Well, luckily, I knew how to swim enough to make it to shore, at least."

Musichetta nodded. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Grantaire wondered what secret she meant, if she caught onto more than she admitted. He was silent as she brought the bucket back up. Reaching up to pull it off the handle, her hand just barely didn't reach far enough to grab it sturdily. 

"I've got it," said Grantaire, using his extra height and muscle to retrieve the heavy bucket with ease. "Oh--"

He froze, watching her roll her sleeve back down. In her attempt to reach the bucket, it had fallen back, revealing some discoloured marks on her skin. Bruises. And to his knowledge, they looked recent.

"Is something wrong?" she asked calmly, grasping her own wrist of her sleeve as though conveying a message to the fabric to stay down. 

For a moment, the prince was silent. But then, he just shook his head. "Nothing. We should get back. I wouldn't want to miss dinner."

Musichetta nodded, and the two of them headed back down the hill, Grantaire holding the pail in one hand. 

The rest of dinner was as expected. Grantaire listened as Enjolras and Babet continued to talk about politics while enjoying Musichetta's delicious food. 

"Well," said Babet, tipping his glass of wine, "It's been a fine evening. You'll stay for breakfast before we see you on your way tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," said Enjolras. "Thanks again for letting us use your spare room."

"It's no problem," said Babet with a grin. He shook his head. "Musichetta's a doll, but some things slip her mind sometimes. Enjolras, you can stay in the house, but R, you can find somewhere comfortable in the hayloft above the barn. It's still quite warm this time of year."

Grantaire blinked, unsure what to make of what he had just heard. 

Enjolras coughed. "Um, I know it's not too much trouble for us both to stay in the guest room," he explained, "You see, we worked together on a ship, and we're quite accustomed to close quarters."

"I know. I would just prefer if he stayed out in the barn."

Grantaire looked to Enjolras, who looked like a vein was about to jump off his forehead and run away. "Excuse me? What exactly is it that you _prefer_?"

"It's not hard to understand," said Babet, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. "You're a good citizen of this country, and you can stay in this house. I've done enough letting that foreigner eat at my table. I can't trust him any further."

"Foreigner?!" Enjolras was livid. "What if I told you he was born in this country, same as you and I? In fact," he said, looking quickly to Grantaire, who shook his head slightly, Enjolras turned to Babet and continued, "What if I told you that, Prince Thenardier, heir to the throne, looks just like him?"

Grantaire tugged on his sleeve helplessly. "Enj--"

"Ha!" replied Babet, looking wickedly amused. "I suppose I've heard that about the prince, but even if that were true, this man is far from a prince," he scoffed, looking up and down at Grantaire's worn appearance with disapproval. 

Enjolras looked as though a glass of water had been thrown on his face. Grantaire saw the glint in his eyes, the recogniseable righteous fury. Enjolras launched himself across the table, throwing a punch in Babet's face. 

Babet immediately stood up, clutching at the side of his jaw. "You son of a whore!" his voice screeched, likely to be heard for miles. "I'll kill you!"

He swung at Enjolras, who managed to duck, and then throw a well-intentioned, but poorly aimed jab back at him. Babet looked up to the mantle, the sword that rested there, and reached for it, but by now, Grantaire had managed to make his way up behind Babet and elbow him sharply in the head, knocking him to the ground. Once he was down, Grantaire pinned him with one knee and twisted his arm behind his back.

"What are we going to do now?" Grantaire said, looking up to Enjolras, whose anger was beginning to replace itself with panic. 

"I don't know," said Enjolras. He paced about the room. "You stay here, I'll grab our things, and then let's get out of here."

Grantaire nodded. 

"Wait," said a voice, and the two of them turned to see Musichetta, who had been watching the entire scene quietly from the other end of the table. "You're leaving?"

"We have to," said Enjolras. "Big changes are happening. We need to go to the capitol."

"Take me with you," said the woman, and Enjolras looked utterly surprised. "I want to-to be a part of the revolution."

That was enough to convince Enjolras. "Very well. Any citizen that believes in a brighter future is welcome to join. Anyone but that oaf," he said, turning with a look of hatred towards Babet. 

Musichetta nodded quickly. "I'll gather some food and things for us to take."

In a few minutes, she and Enjolras had gathered a few bags of food, some extra clothes and supplies. Enjolras handed Grantaire the sword from the mantlepiece. 

"I think we should trust you with this, if anyone."

Grantaire stood up, taking the weapon in its sheath and attaching it to his belt. Babet stayed still on the floor, apparently unconscious. 

"We should go," said Musichetta, who had donned a travelling cloak, and Enjolras and Grantaire nodded. 

The two of them followed her out to the road in the dark, and Grantaire realised it was probably for the best she was going with them. And then, to his horror, he heard the voice of Babet. 

"You harlot!" 

They turned to see him in standing in the doorway to the house with a decent mark blooming on his forehead. _A taste of your own medicine_ , Grantaire thought.

Babet continued his speech to Musichetta. "You deplorable wench! You will NEVER find a husband that's as good for you as I am!"

Musichetta froze, facing away from him as she stared up the hill. Grantaire watched for a moment, passing a glance to Enjolras, who seemed just as unsure what was happening. And then, Musichetta turned on her heel and strode right up to him.

"I WILL find a better husband than you," she spat. "In fact, I bet I can find TWO husbands better than you ever were!"

Babet just stood there, staring angrily at her in silence. She turned away from him and hurried back to her new fellow travelers. 

"Let's go," said Enjolras, and without another word, the three of them continued up the path towards the road. Grantaire glanced back once they were a safe distance away, and Babet's silhouette still loomed in the doorway, unmoving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Thanks for reading, see you next week!


	13. Chapter 13

Dusk had fallen as Grantaire walked along the gravel country road, following behind Enjolras, who was following behind Musichetta, who was leading the way with a small lantern. 

"I'm glad you came with us," Enjolras told her, clutching at the corners of a borrowed cloak as a breeze wafted among the travellers. "I don't think we could have found our way into town on our own in the dark."

"Well, it's fortunate I ran into you two, too," she replied without looking back. "I don't know if you could tell, but my husband wasn't a good man. I've wanted to leave him for some time now, but I didn't have the courage to do it on my own.

"We could tell he wasn't a saint," replied Grantaire. "I'm glad he's out of the picture now."

Musichetta glanced back at him and smiled. 

Just then, they heard something in the distance--a lone wolf's cry. Without thinking, Grantaire reached for Enjolras' arm, who would have scolded him if he hadn't done exactly the same. Upon realising their foible, they were quick to jump apart. But it was too late for Musichetta not to see it. 

"So, there are wolves in these parts?" Enjolras asked, trying to change subjects, but unable to hide the uneasy high-pitch in his voice. 

"Yes," said Musichetta. "But they usually leave people alone. With at least three of us, we should be fine."

Grantaire heard Enjolras breathe a sigh of relief. But then Musichetta's expression changed, and she said, 

"You know, it's quite alright. You don't have to hide it in front of me."

"H-hide what?" said Enjolras. Grantaire stopped his own palm from hitting his brow. 

"I saw you two this morning." She gave an apologetic smile. "When I opened the door to wake you for breakfast. I closed it quickly after and then waited a few minutes to knock."

Enjolras and Grantaire were completely silent. 

Musichetta looked down, her voice quieter the next time she spoke. "I'm sorry. I should have respected your privacy."

Finally, Grantaire spoke in return. "It's my fault. We were trying to be careful around you, and I wasn't doing a very good job at it."

"What?" said Enjolras, placing a hand on his arm with furrowed brow. "If anything it's my fault. I agreed to us sleeping in the same bed and--anyway," he said, clearing his throat before turning to Musichetta. "Thank you for understanding. And for your discretion."

The woman nodded. "Of course. If it were up to me, though, I think you shouldn't have to pretend."

Enjolras smiled, looking relieved. "Yes. Now, um, do you think I would get attacked by a wolf if I stepped into the woods to take a piss?"

"I hope not," said Musichetta with a laugh. "But we can stand guard."

Grantaire nodded. "Yeah, it'll give us a running head start when the wolf jumps out at you."

Enjolras sighed deeply, clutching his brow as Grantaire let out a belly laugh. Musichetta looked quite entertained. 

Grantaire and Musichetta stepped off to the side of the road and waited for a few minutes as Enjolras ventured into the woods. The air grew quiet, and Grantaire couldn't help but feel a little awkward. 

"Nice night," he said flatly. "Not too cold."

"You're him, aren't you," said Musichetta without hesitation. "The prince."

Grantaire's eyes widened. "No--well yes," he admitted, realising it was pointless to say otherwise. He sighed, folding his arms. "Alright, what tipped you off?"

"I always had a hunch," Musichetta admitted. "But it was pretty obvious when you didn't know how to draw water from a well. You looked like you'd never even _seen_ a well."

"Yeah..." Grantaire's voice trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck. "I haven't been out much."

Musichetta laughed at that. "And Enjolras doesn't strike me as a working man either," she said. "Is he royal, too?"

"Enjolras? No," said Grantaire, breathing a smile. "But you're right that he's not poor."

"How did you two meet?" asked Musichetta. 

"At the palace," answered Grantaire. "It's a long story."

Musichetta just nodded. 

Just then, they heard footsteps in the grass and looked up to see Enjolras approaching.

"Well, I didn't see any wolves, so that was fortunate," he said. "Shall we get going?"

Grantaire nodded. 

***

The sleepy village was mostly dark when they reached it, most of the windows in the houses completely dark. Musichetta led them to the only building that still had light coming from it, a modest-sized inn.

Enjolras pulled out his pocket change and counted it. "I think we should be good for the night. Let's go."

Inside, a few patrons hung around the bar, some of them passed out, a couple of men chatting quietly in the corner. He followed Musichetta to the bar, and Grantaire followed behind them.

"How can I help you, sirs?" asked the innkeeper. 

"Yes," he said, getting his bearings. "We'll take two rooms for the night, if you have them."

"No can do," replied the man. "We only got one left. Two beds, though. "

Enjolras looked to Grantaire, but before either of them could offer up a solution, Musichetta answered for them, 

"It's no trouble. You see, my friends here are sailors who have just come from a long journey at sea. They're well accustomed to sharing close quarters, so it should be no problem."

Enjolras grew red at the knowing grin on her face, and out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Grantaire was trying not to laugh, but nonetheless, Enjolras turned to the innkeeper. "Yes, we'll take the room, if that's alright."

He paid the nightly rate, and the innkeeper led them upstairs to the simple room containing two beds, a couple tables, not much else. 

"Goodnight," said Musichetta, already crawling under the covers of the smaller bed. She rolled to face the wall. "You can do whatever you want, just keep it quiet."

"We're not going to--" Enjolras stopped himself mid-answer, turning to Grantaire, who was practically in tears laughing. Enjolras straightened his posture, tilting his head slightly as he said, "we're not going to--tell me you don't think we should?"

Grantaire placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, Apollo," he said definitively. "Now let's get some sleep." 

They removed their outermost layers, and Grantaire left his newly acquired sword on the table. They lied down in the bed together, and as he felt Grantaire pull the covers over both of them, Enjolras had to admit Musichetta's comment made spooning each other seem quite tame. He closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep. 

***

When Enjolras awoke, he smiled, clutching the pillow in front of him. _Wait._

He opened his eyes, and yes, he was indeed cuddling a pillow and not a runaway prince. 

Sitting up and taking a look around the room in the dim morning light, he noticed a blanketed lump in the other bed which he hoped was still Musichetta. Grantaire's sword still lay on the table. 

"Musichetta!" No movement. "Hey, Musichetta, wake up!"

Lo and behold, the mass stirred, and the woman rolled over and sat up, eyes still mostly closed, and hair in a wild disarray. "What?"

"Grantaire," said Enjolras. "Did you see him leave?"

"Who?" she rubbed her eyes. "Oh. You mean R?"

"Yes," replied Enjolras. He threw back the covers and began putting on his boots. 

"No," said Musichetta, just starting to grasp the seriousness of the situation. "Why? Where is he?"

Enjolras came downstairs to the near empty pub and someone else was working behind the bar, an older woman. 

"Excuse me, miss, did you see someone leave here last night? One of the guests from upstairs?" He gave the general description.

"Oh yeah," she said. "I think I saw him pass through. Just walked outside without saying hello or nothing, quite rude."

"Alright, thanks," Enjolras said tersely. He continued out the front door, even though it was pointless. The morning fog was the only thing visibly resting in the quiet cobblestone streets of the small village. 

The word _"No!"_ escaped from his breath.

***

While Grantaire slept, he felt serene, like he was in a cradle being rocked to sleep. But as time passed, a bright ray of sun shot onto his eyes, and the ground shook, causing him to jump awake. 

"What? Where am--" He froze, hearing those familiar noises rattling the floor were that of horses pulling a carriage. 

"So you're awake," said a voice, and his blood ran cold. 

Grantaire's eyes slowly looked up at the uniformed man staring down at him. He grimaced. "Javert."

"Good morning to you, too, Your Grace," said the older man. Grantaire took in the scene now. Javert sat on one side of the carriage in a cushioned seat. 

"You have the wrong person," said Grantaire flatly. 

Javert let out a harsh laugh at that. "Don't play dumb with me. I've looked after you since before you could walk."

Grantaire scowled. "What do you want with me? You're taking me back to the queen so she can spit in my face before executing?"

"No," said Javert. "I can't believe you, siding with that--that revolutionary. We have to leave the country. We're almost to the border now."

"What?!" Grantaire craned his neck to see what he could out the small screen window of the carriage. "No, I want to go back to the city, and Enjolras--what have you done with Enjolras?!" He bit his lip. "Tell me you didn't--"

"We didn't have to do anything," replied Javert. "It was rather fortunate. I had heard one rumour you already left the country, and another that you perished in a shipwreck. But as I was returning to the city, I decided to spend the night at an inn in a small country town, and what luck, as I was exchanging drinks for any more rumours of your whereabouts, you just walked right into the room. And with that _traitor_ , Enjolras. I was going to go up to your room to try to talk to you, make you see reason. But then, you came downstairs of your own accord. You always had a penchant for walking in your sleep."

"You...you kidnapped me while I was sleepwalking?" Grantaire's expression darkened. "This is ridiculous. I'm a grown man, a prince, and you have no jurisdiction over me--"

"Because you keep making foolish decisions!" Javert snapped back. "And how could you? How could you be involved in a plot to overthrow Her Majesty?"

"You mean my mother?" Grantaire cried back. "I don't see why I should side with the woman who's trying to kill me?!"

Javert was oddly silent at that. He just pursed his lips and sat up straight. 

"Besides," said Grantaire, "if you care about the queen so much, why don't you kill me? Those were her orders, weren't they?"

"Grantaire," Javert said, his tone almost pleading. "You know I could never do that. You're--you're like a son to me."

Grantaire furrowed his brow, unsure what to make of that, other than that it was no good explanation at all.

Javert made an uncomfortable grimace, and then lowered his voice to add, "Montparnasse."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Montparnasse. Were you sleeping with him, too?"

"What? No!" Grantaire replied, appalled. "I don't even know who that is!"

Javert let out a sigh. "Alright. He was found dead in your chambers the night you disappeared. He's the queen's personal assassin that she would send whenever she wanted someone dead."

Grantaire grimaced. "Well, no, I didn't, and he tried to kill me so--" he stopped himself, realising with whom he was currently having relations.

Javert slowly shook his head. "You have to believe me. I had no idea she was going to send him after you." He bit his lip in remorse. "If I did, I would have done everything to get you out of there. If anything, I'm glad you're safe now."

"Yeah, because of Enjolras," said Grantaire, crossing his arms in a big gesture of I-told-you-so. "He was the one who orchestrated my escape from the city. And he taught me how to swim. That's how I was able to make it to shore after our ship was attacked. And attacked by the royal guard, no less."

"So you were in a shipwreck," Javert replied under his breath, astonished. "And I imagine that evening I called on him and his associates for dinner, you were hiding there somewhere in the house?"

Grantaire gave a quiet, smug expression in answer.

"Were you?" Javert asked again.

"Under the table."

That was enough for Javert to close his eyes, wincing in regret. 

He took another deep breath, and this time when he spoke, he was staring at a spot on the floor. "You know, I care for you as though you were my own son," he said. 

"Yes," replied Grantaire, rolling his eyes. "You can save all this sentimental stuff for after we reach the border, and I make my daring escape to be with the love of my life."

Javert scowled. "Grantaire, can you be serious for one moment?!" he barked, and immediately covered his eyes after. "I'm sorry."

"Just say whatever it is you want to say, old man," Grantaire replied. 

Javert cultivated another steady gaze. "I care you like a son because...you are my son."

Grantaire's first response was laughter. "That's preposterous, you really expect me to believe--what?!" His face fell as he saw Javert was, as always, quite serious.

"Yes," said Javert. "Your mother and I...ever since His Majesty passed, well, some before then," he added in a low voice before clearing his throat and continuing, "The queen chose to have an affair with me. Twenty four years ago, she gave birth to a bastard son, my son. Of course she hid it because she wanted the throne to herself, but she also wanted to avoid scandal. It was enough that I was employed at the palace, and that we looked alike. So I orchestrated the entire coverup, which we've managed to keep secret until now. They say if you don't want to get charged for murder, lead the investigation."

Grantaire watched him silently, unsure what to say. Of course, now he could see it, the physical similarities between them. He had always assumed it was a coincidence. How blind he felt. 

"I have always loved you," said Javert.

Grantaire shook out of his hesitation. "Is that why you kidnapped me?" he quipped. 

Javert closed his eyes. After a few moments, he rapped on the door to the carriage. "Stop! Stop the carriage."

Grantaire frowned, wondering what on Earth his--well, his father, apparently--was doing. 

Javert looked to him and said in a low voice, "Enjolras, he really saved your life?"

"He would never do anything to hurt me," said Grantaire, adding _again_ afterwards in his mind. 

Javert nodded. The carriage had stopped, and the driver, a close servant hand to Javert, opened the door. "Is there something you need, sir?"

"Turn the carriage around. We're going to the city."

Grantaire's eyes widened at that, but he wasn't expecting Javert to say next,

"We're going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javert: *picks his kid up in the 16th century equivalent of a cop car*
> 
> Ok thanks for reading! See you next week.


	14. Chapter 14

"So what are we going to do?"

Enjolras stared blankly at the end of the table. His morning coffee was starting to go cold as Musichetta sipped hers at the other end, the two of them having some breakfast at the inn. 

"I don't know," he answered, finally. His posture straightened slightly. "There's nothing else to do. We go to the city."

"You're not going to look for him?" Musichetta asked softly. "Or wait. If he just went out for some air, maybe he'll come back." 

"No," he replied to her over-optimism. "If he's gone, he's gone."

"I'm sorry." Musichetta frowned. "Are you alright? You two seemed very close."

Enjolras closed his eyes, feeling a deep, aching sadness he didn't want to admit to. "There's nothing we can do. If he's gone, he's gone."

Musichetta was silent for a moment, and then nodded.

They were able to use remaining funds to catch a coach to the capitol. Enjolras remembered what Jehan had said, that Feuilly had been holding meetings in the marketplace at night, and they reached there by evening. He was surprised, however, to find the place empty. 

"What did you think would be here?" asked Musichetta, trailing after him as he hastily wandered up and down the empty stalls. "Is this where you expected to find R?"

"No, but our acquaintances--"

"Enjolras! Is that you?"

The leader looked up, his face blank in complete surprise to see Bahorel coming the other way, a huge grin on his face. He greeted Enjolras with a firm grasp on both his arms. "Good to see you, my friend."

"Bahorel," breathed Enjolras, starting to feel more at ease, seeing a familiar face. He smiled. "Good to see you, too. Erm--allow me to introduce, this is Musichetta. She's volunteered to help our cause."

Bahorel looked to Musichetta. "Ah, I see, well, we're lucky to have you. "

Musichetta gave a smile and a curtsy. "Glad to be here."

"Bahorel is a trainer at the palace," Enjolras explained.

"Yes," replied the other man, "And _formerly_ of the palace, that is. I haven't been back since the night I helped R escape. Speaking of R, where is that bastard?"

Enjolras just shook his head.

"That bad?" said Bahorel.

"He just up and left. It's best to assume we won't see him again," replied Enjolras, eager to change the subject. "What about you? You quit the palace?"

"I have," replied Bahorel, quite proud. He looked around the near empty square and motioned for his two interlocutors to lean in close. "I've been focusing my time on the revolution now. The amici--well, we call it the People's Crusade now, we're plotting to overthrow the monarchy. You're going to come to the meeting, aren't you?"

"Yes," replied Enjolras with a great relief. "That's why we came here. The meeting's here, isn't it?"

"Not anymore," said Bahorel. "We started gathering too much attention. We have a new meeting place. Come on, I'll take you."

"Excellent," replied Enjolras. He frowned.

"Is something wrong?" asked Musichetta. Enjolras cursed internally at her ability to notice even the smallest detail. 

"N-nothing," he stuttered. Enjolras sighed. "I wish R were here."

Musichetta nodded sadly. 

"Don't worry," interjected Bahorel. "Wherever he is, I'm sure the libertine is having the time of his life."

***

"So..." said Javert, failing at trying to make conversation for the tenth time in a row as he and Grantaire had their--quite rocky--carriage ride back to the city. "Did you at least get to enjoy the country a bit while you were out?"

Grantaire thought of hiking along the coast, swimming with Enjolras, picking grapes. "I don't really want to talk about it," he concluded, sullenly crossing his arms. At least now he was free to move like a normal person. " _Father_ ," he added spitefully.

Javert sighed. "I know I haven't given you the most freedom--"

"Try none at all."

Javert pursed his lips. "It was because it was--"

"What was best for me, I know," said Grantaire, rolling his eyes. "I've heard that already, you can give up trying to convice me now."

"I was going to say," Javert continued after clearing his throat, "That it was only what I thought was best for you at the time. I didn't want you to leave the palace too much because I was worried something could happen to you."

Grantaire hoped his silence spoke volumes. 

"And," said Javert, giving another sigh, "I suppose I restricted you too much. I'm sorry."

The prince lifted an eyebrow. "That's not the only time you were restrictive."

Javert winced. "Right. I'm...I'm sorry for keeping you tied up earlier. And kidnapping you. You deserve better. When we get back to the palace, I'll make it up to you--"

"The palace?!" Grantaire spat indignantly. "You must think I have a cask of wine where my brain is if you think I'm going anywhere near that place."

"Grantaire," said Javert, his tone pressing with a tired pleading. "I've kept your identity secret for over two decades. I've kept my own identity secret. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Is that so?" replied Grantaire. "Then where were you those times assassins showed up in my chambers trying to kill me--"

"Assassins?" said Javert, confused. "There was more than one?"

Grantaire grew instantly silent. After an awkward amount of time, he answered, "No."

"Grantaire," said Javert. "I know we've had our differences, but I'm your father, and I care about you. You can tell me anything."

Grantaire did not look convinced. 

"I have a plan," said Javert. "We're going to go to the palace, and I'll convince the senate, maybe your mother to let you back in the country. They don't have to know you're here. What do you say?"

Grantaire folded his arms. "Look, I'm not going to the palace, I told you that. If you need me to lay low, why don't you take me to Eponine's? She's kept me hidden there before."

" _Il Gato D'Oro_?" remarked Javert, his tone shifting. "That's not a bad idea. And--wait, what do you mean she's kept you hidden there before?"

"Nothing," said Grantaire, suppressing a grin. 

Javert just had to let out another sigh as the carriage rolled on.

***

Enjolras had to be at least a little skeptical as Bahorel led him and Musichetta through the catacombs, taking a practiced number of turns that would leave anyone else lost in the massive labyrinth. But he trusted his friend, and now, as they ascended a set of stairs into a grand, lofty hall, Enjolras' mouth hung open in wonder. 

"This is one of those old abandoned Christian churches?" he whispered to Bahorel, who nodded. On the other side of the atrium, some of their friends were congregating. Their voices echoed against the candlelit walls.

"Enjolras will probably come back, but I doubt R ever will. I think it's more likely that Enjolras returns with a girlfriend in his place--"

Bossuet grew silent at the sight of the three of them. 

Feuilly gave an uncharacteristically lighthearted smile, upon seeing Bahorel, greeting him with a squeeze to the arm. "You're here," he said, and then glancing at Enjolras, added, "And Enjolras? How did you find him?"

"I just ran into him in the market," replied Bahorel, blushing beneath a wide grin. "It was a real stroke of luck."

"It really was," said Enjolras. "It's so good to see you all. Oh, and this is Musichetta, I've recruited her to join our cause--Musichetta, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said the woman, sort of limping to one side. She picked up her foot and grimaced. "I think I stumbled in the catacombs and twisted my ankle."

"Oh!" remarked Bossuet. "Come here, my lady, my good friend Joly is a medical student. I'm sure he can help."

"If it's not too much trouble," she said, and gave a smile. "And I'm not really a lady."

"Sure you are," replied Bossuet. He held out his elbow. "Let me show you to him."

She took his arm, and with his help, limped over to Joly, who was sitting on a bench along the wall. 

"I'm glad you're here," said Feuilly to Enjolras. He noticed that a few more people he didn't recognise were starting to come into the room, most of them looking like craftsmen and labourers. "And what of R?"

"He's left us," Enjolras lamented. "It came as a shock to me, too."

"No matter," said Bahorel. "Feuilly and I have been organising some like minded people to revolt against the crown. We've been growing in numbers."

"That's wonderful," remarked Enjolras, watching the crowd in the room begin to swell.

"Yes," said Feuilly. "I think we're due to revolt in the coming days. And now that you're here, you can speak to them!"

"What?" said Enjolras. "No, I don't think I'm qualified for--I haven't prepared anything."

"You'll do great," said Bahorel. "If any of the times I've seen you count for anything."

"Enjolras, please," said Feuilly. "You're the one who started this movement. It would mean so much to them."

Enjolras' posture straightened. "Okay. I'll do it."

***

It was starting to get dark as horses pulled the royal carriage to a halt in front of _Il Gato D'Oro_. Javert stepped out, checking that the coast was clear before ushering a sullen prince inside. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," welcomed Eponine almost immediately after their entrance into the foyer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good evening, Madonna," said Javert. "Would you be able to hide His Grace in your fine establishment for a few days? I'll pay double your nightly rate."

"Having the prince stay here is such a delight," she replied with a coy grin. "I would be honoured to have him here again."

"Excellent." Javert turned to Grantaire and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This should be over soon enough. Promise me you'll stay out of trouble?"

Grantaire just rolled his eyes. "I'll try."

Javert let out a deep sigh. "Very well. Thank you again, Madonna, and farewell."

As soon as he was gone, Eponine turned and hurried into the other room, where she sat down in front of a mirror and began fussing with her appearance. "I hope you don't mind being left alone for awhile," she said without looking back at Grantaire, who had followed her into the room. 

"I'm willing to go anywhere," he said, leaning against the door frame. "Unless--don't tell you have a date."

"Something like that," she replied after taking the last pin out of her mouth and expertly sliding it into her hair, completing the romantic updo. She grinned and took his hand. "Actually, maybe you should come with me. I've been following these men who meet in the catacombs at night; some of them are very handsome. Alright--" she said, lifting a hand before Grantaire could make a witty comeback. " _One_ of them in particular is very handsome."

"Well, good," said Grantaire with a laugh. "I was starting to get confused."

"You'll come with me, won't you?" said Eponine, her eyes shining brightly. "Last time I almost got lost down there! I need someone to escort me--preferably someone who can defend me if attacked."

Grantaire laughed. "Well, then, I'm your man."

***

As Eponine led him through the dark tunnels, he had to admit it would be easy to get lost, but Eponine seemed to find her way without hesitation. When they came to a large, above-ground atrium, Grantaire took in the sight of the huge crowd that had gathered. 

Eponine tugged at his elbow. "Look, there he is!" she whispered.

"Who, him?" 

He turned his gaze to the scrawny young gentlemen, dressed in a manner that screamed "I'm pretending to be poor." He turned his head and Grantaire recognized him, the grandson of consul Gillenormand, Marius Pontmercy. They had chanced upon each other on occasion of observing the senate, and to Grantaire, he had always seemed rather airy and daft. 

"Marius? _He's_ the one you're in love with?" Grantaire remarked.

"That's his name? Marius?" replied Eponine, hardly noticing his disapproval. "So dreamy. Why, do you know him?"

Grantaire was about to answer her, but then, from the platform on the other side of the room, someone announced quiet. 

"Hush, the meeting's starting," whispered Eponine, although Grantaire had not spoken. 

***

"Good evening, everyone," called Feuilly. Enjolras stood off the side of the platform with the other amici, watching silently. 

"It's good to see you all here," continued Feuilly, "that you all can join in the People's Crusade, and fight for our rights--as citizens, as workers, as people deserving of basic human dignity!"

The crowd cheered. 

"And now, tonight, we have a surprise guest, the man who led our predecessor group, the _Amici Veritatis_ , has a few words to say. I give you, Enjolras!"

Enjolras walked toward the podium, feeling a strong, powerful energy within him as he prepared to speak. In the candlelight, he could see a range of different expressions in the faces that flickered before him--the excited face of a young man, the angrily clenched jaw of a worker fed-up with injustice, the tired eyes of an old woman who had been through too much. 

"Fellow citizens," he began, his voice ringing throughout the hall, "We have long put up with the injustices of the monarchy. The will of a queen who cares none for her people, and does whatever suits her whims. The senate that does nothing but bicker, unless it's a new tax to line their pockets. And a prince," he swallowed. Remembering his usual trick to stay focused, he tried speaking to the tops of his audience's heads, raising his gaze to the back of the room as he continued, "A prince who would abandon his own people, and--Grantaire?" 

Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, some of the workers turning their heads towards the prince, who was there, somehow, in the back of the room, his eyes locked on Enjolras. 

"It's him! It's the crown prince!" someone cried, and a couple men standing nearest to Grantaire grabbed his arms. Enjolras spotted Eponine beside him, covering her mouth in surprise. 

"Alright!" called Feuilly, making his way onto the platform. The voices in the crowd died down a little. "Bring him here, and let him speak."

The people in the crowd agreed with this, and Enjolras watched as the workers stepped aside, Grantaire stumbling forward as multiple hands pushed his back. 

"Erm, hello?" Grantaire called to the crowd once he had reached the platform. He gave a weak wave before quickly pulling Enjolras to the side. 

"What's going on?" Enjolras whispered. "What happened?"

"Javert kidnapped me," Grantaire replied. "I'll tell you everything later."

"Javert--" Enjolras grew silent, trying to imagine the situation. Finally, he gave a determined nod. "I'm sorry for denouncing you. Do you think you can speak to them?"

Grantaire gave an apologetic smile. "No?"

Enjolras anxiously rubbed his forehead. "Alright. Well you have to tell them something. Just say that--"

"Don't worry, Apollo," said Grantaire, placing a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "I'll figure something out."

He flashed a grin, and before Enjolras could say anything, the prince was already making his way back to the podium. 

"Good evening, everyone," he began, waving a hand with grin on his face. "Yes I am, I am the prince, apparently, not that that should mean anything."

The crowd was dead silent. 

"Right. Well, I'm not great at public speaking, probably because, as you might know, I was kept a palace secret for more than two decades. I didn't really get out much."

That earned a laugh or two to warm the otherwise frigid atmosphere.

"Anyway," Grantaire continued, clearing his throat. "I sort of left the palace because my mother, you know, the queen, she tried to have me killed. And I could have fled the country, but...this is my home. And this is all of your home, you belong here. My mother, she thinks that I'm a threat to her rule, because, technically I could rule. But I don't want to rule. I don't see why I should be the ruler of this country any more than any of you should. Um..."

A few comments were being passed amongst the crowd. Grantaire looked to Enjolras, who just nodded encouragingly.

"Yeah, so we're going to take the queen off of that throne of hers, and then the country will be yours!" he called, raising his hands with the sudden thrill of joy. The crowd erupted in cheers. Some clapped. Enjolras just stared back in astonishment that it had gone this well. But then--

"Attention!" 

A small voice called from the back of the room. A boy of about 12 was hoisted upon another man's shoulders as he made an announcement to the crowd. "News from the palace says the queen has taken deathly ill! The royal physician says she has only a few hours to live!"

A few gasps could be heard around the room. Enjolras looked to Grantaire, whose jaw hung open slightly, barely able to register what had been said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. Nothing was inspired by current events...
> 
> Anyway, the thrilling conclusion will be out next week!


	15. The Thrilling Conclusion, Pt. I

"Come on," hissed Eponine, gesturing for Grantaire to follow after her down the dark alleyway. The streets were mostly empty.

"Why would Javert come _now_ ," complained Grantaire. "Shouldn't he be busy preparing...whatever he needs to prepare? Funeral arrangements?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out," said Eponine. "Now come on, we're almost back."

They reached the brothel and snuck in through the back door, where Floreal was waiting for them. 

"Oh, monsieur, it is good that you are here," she replied, much to the sinking feeling in Grantaire's stomach. True to his intuition, Javert was waiting for them in the front parlor.

"Eponine! Tell me where the hell have you been with the crown prince?"

She gave a quick bow upon seeing him. "We were just out for a walk. The streets are mostly empty, and His Grace said he could do with some fresh air."

"Y-yeah, what Eponine said," Grantaire stuttered, and Eponine surreptitiously elbowed him in the ribs to keep quiet. 

"I see," replied Javert. "I'll have to forgive you at the moment because the nation is in crisis."

"Oh?" replied Eponine, surprisingly good at playing dumb. "What crisis?"

Javert sighed, his gaze falling as he took his hat in his hands. After a long pause, his eyes landed on Grantaire, and he said, "Your mother. She's on her death bed." 

"Oh no," Grantaire answered flatly. "How terrible. Well, it's been a night. Be seeing you--"

Javert stopped his trip upstairs with a firm grasp to the shoulder. 

"Look," said Grantaire, his voice swelling with anger. "I don't see what this has to do with me."

"Everything," replied Javert. "If she dies, you inherit the throne."

Grantaire's eyes fell on his, immensely grave, stone cold ones. He remembered where Javert stood in all this, the right hand to the queen, and the father to--

"You," breathed Grantaire in realisation. "You poisoned her. You poisoned her so I would take the throne."

"I did nothing of the sort," replied Javert. His words sounded carefully metered, rehearsed. "She simply took ill of her own accord."

Grantaire's expression darkened. "Then leave. Leave me to mourn my mother in peace. Tomorrow I may be emperor, but can't I be just a man one night longer?"

Javert sighed. "Very well. I'll send for you in the morning. But you never were just a man, Grantaire. Remember that." He turned to leave.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," said Eponine when he was gone. "I wouldn't mind being ruler of an empire for a day."

"For a day, maybe," said Grantaire. "For me, it's a bit of a bigger commitment than that."

"I think you're being a bit dramatic," said Eponine. She turned to the corridor leading to the backroom and called, "Enjolras, you can come out, now!"

"How did you know I was here?" inquired Enjolras upon making himself visible. "I came in through the back door but stopped when I heard Javert."

"I saw you out of the corner of my eye," replied Eponine. She turned on her heel and headed upstairs. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to reconveine."

Grantaire watched her leave, and as soon as he was gone, reached for his lover. 

"We didn't get a chance to talk," said Enjolras, his voice softer as he lifted his chin from Grantaire's shoulder. "You left so quickly."

"I know," replied the prince. "Eponine's idea. And she was right, wasn't she? Who knows what would have happened if Javert went looking for me?"

Enjolras nodded in understanding. "We have much to discuss. Can we talk in private?"

"If you two gentleman would like," said Eponine, appearing at the top of the stairs with a knowing smile, "Your usual suite is ready."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and sighed. "Eponine, if we go in there, are you going to keep eavesdropping on us?"

"It's my business to eavesdrop," replied Eponine, carefully lifting up the hem of her skirt as she descended the stairs. "But only on my enemies, so you're in luck."

"Enjolras!"

The three of them turned to see Feuilly coming into the room from the back. Closely following behind was Bahorel, and also Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. 

"Is the whole city coming?" asked Eponine, lifting an eyebrow. 

"We need to work out a plan," continued Feuilly. He stopped, turning to Grantaire. "Are you...going to aid our cause?"

"All of you should leave," said Eponine. "Javert could come back any minute. He knows R is here."

"We don't have anywhere else to meet," said Joly. "We've been banned from the Musain."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "I suppose you can all squeeze into the royal suite."

***

The group of friends crowded in the bedroom, discussing the matter of a coup in hushed tones. When they had finally put together a concrete plan, all left but for Enjolras and Grantaire. 

"How are you feeling with all of this?" Enjolras asked, sitting on the bed next to him now that they were alone and behind closed doors. "Do you feel prepared?"

"I don't know if I can be," said Grantaire. He fell back onto the pillows. "It's been a long day. Now I just want to sleep."

***

When Grantaire awoke, he felt warm and safe. As he stirred, he felt a pair of arms shift around him. When he opened his eyes, he looked up to see Enjolras, holding his head in his lap, one of his hands running through Grantaire's hair. 

"Enjolras," said Grantaire, sleepily sitting up. His eyes winced in the morning light. "Did you sleep at all?"

"A little," said the other man, his brow sturdy. "I've had a lot on my mind."

Grantaire placed a hand on his, nodding slowly. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on Enjolras' forehead, as though to remove his stress. Despite the lines of worry, Enjolras managed a smile. 

"I know it has to happen," said Grantaire, resuming his sleeping position, arms wrapped around Enjolras, face buried in his stomach. "but does Javert have to come take me away from you?"

"I know," said Enjolras, "but it's the only way our plan will work."

Grantaire nodded. For a moment, they shared a peaceful silence.

"What happened then?" said Enjolras. "Yesterday morning. He really kidnapped you?"

"I was sleepwalking," answered Grantaire. "That's how it happened. He took me in my sleep."

Enjolras made a face. "Unbelievable. How fitting of him to prey on people when they're most vulnerable."

Across the room, they heard a sharp knock on the door. 

"Eponine! What is it?!" Grantaire called, his eyes still closed and his voice half muffled by Enjolras' abdomen. 

The door opened just enough for the woman to peek inside. "Javert is here. He brought some clothes for you to change into. And I would come quickly unless you want him to come up here."

"Thank you, Ep," called Grantaire, and after she set the folded clothing on a dresser, she left without another word. 

"You should go," said Enjolras, pressing a kiss onto the top of the head of Grantaire, who groaned and sat up. 

Lazily draping his arms on Enjolras' chest, their eyes met. Enjolras could see the confidence of the man that he knew, but also a hint of fear.

"When am I going to see you again?" said the prince in a quiet voice. 

"You know when."

"I know." Grantaire grimaced slightly. "If everything goes well."

"It will," said Enjolras, rubbing his back in an affirming gesture. "You're always such a pessimist."

That elicited a smile from Grantaire. "One of us has to be."

He leaned in to kiss Enjolras, and after a long slow drinking each other in, it was difficult to pull apart again. 

***

"There you are!" cried Javert the moment Grantaire came down the stairs, dressed in his morning clothes, barely willing or able to keep his eyes open. It was certain, at least, he looked like someone had died. 

"Your mother just ran cold less than an hour ago," Javert continued, putting a cloak over his shoulders. "We'll go back the palace, and you'll be able to go to her bedside to say your goodbyes." 

Grantaire nodded, following Javert outside without a word, rubbing his tired eyes. They boarded a carriage, and the ground took underneath them as they headed for the palace. 

"We have a busy next couple of days ahead of us," said Javert, pulling out a ledger and skimming over it with some little reading glasses. "What," he said flatly, looking up at the silent prince. "Are you upset you won't see Enjolras again? Don't worry, I've been able to fit it into the schedule so that once you're king, you'll be able to back to _Il Gato D'Oro_ once a month. With supervision, of course. It's the most I can allow, but at least it's something."

"Fantastic," said Grantaire, who was slumping against the side of the carriage with his arms crossed. 

Javert looked up at him, peering over his readers. "Is that all? I thought you would be more upset about not being able to see your boyfriend so often."

"No," said Grantaire, making no effort to mask the sarcasm in his voice. "It's great. Thank you, _Father_."

" _Shh_!" Javert glanced around anxiously. "You can't say that," he said, his voice lowered. "There will come a time when we can be open about it, but for now, the spotlight is on you and your coronation."

 _Coronation_. The word rattled arond in Grantaire's brain. He supposed it had always been in the back of his mind, the idea that the throne was to be his one day. He just hadn't thought it would come so soon.

The prince glanced out the window of the carriage and sigh. Soon, they would be crossing the bridge over the river, and then, he would be back in his prison. 

***

The first stop after his return to the palace was, as previously stated, his mother's corpse. He had to admit, a strange feeling washed over him as he entered the room, seeing servants and various members of the court milling about. 

"Everyone out!" Javert called. "His Grace would like some alone time with the queen."

Slowly, the people in the room began to file out. He noticed Consul Valjean make eye contact with him before making his exit.

With everyone gone, it was just him and Javert. Well, that and his mother. As he approached the bed, he saw her cold, lifeless face. Something in his stomach didn't sit right, and not knowing what else to do, he knelt beside her, resting his elbows on the bed. She was dressed in a luxurious nightgown, the ends trimmed with gold. He shook his head. Even asleep, she had to look the finest, and now here she was, in that gown for an eternity. 

"You can have a few more minutes," said Javert, always ready to ruin a heartfelt moment, Grantaire thought to himself. "Then we have to prepare for your coronation."

Grantaire thought about it. Here they were, both his parents and him in the same room. Slowly, he looked up to his father. "Did you love her?"

"What?"

"You know what I mean," said Grantaire. "You and her. You used to be lovers. Did you still love her?"

"We were hardly--" Javert's lips screwed up, and he brought a hand to his forehead. "It was complicated. I'm sure you understand how things are different when one is a ruler and has that power over others."

"So you regret it," said Grantaire. 

"What?" Javert looked practically insulted. "No. Of course I don't regret it. You're--" he sighed. "Grantaire," he said, placing a hand on the prince's shoulder. "Believe me when I say this. You're the most important thing in my life, and I would never regret you."

Grantaire looked him in the eye, those eyes that were always serious. He was quiet in response, but in his mind, he added, _You'll regret me soon enough._

Javert stood. "I'll allow you to have some time alone with her. Come meet me in your chambers when you're done."

Grantaire nodded, barely looking up at him as he left the room.

When he had sufficiently mourned the woman who had barely brought him up, he stood and exited the room, to be instantly met with Valjean and Gillenormand, the consuls. 

"Your Grace," began Gillenormand, "We'd like to speak with you, if you'd have a moment."

"What is it?" Grantaire said, stopping abruptly, a cold, flat expression on his face. 

"Yes," said Gillenormand, his cape fluttering as he moved to stand next to Grantaire. Valjean stayed put. "We have some new ideas as to how the senate should be run once you become emperor."

Grantaire scowled at him. "You're really going to pitch your ideas to me, literally beside my mother's deathbed? No, if you want to speak to me, you can seek an audience at court like everyone else. Do not think that because of your status you should be treated differently than them."

"Your Grace," said Gillenormand, and was that a smirk on his face, "Valjean and I are consuls. It is our duty to speak for the senate, and in turn, the whole empire. Would you grant an audience for your people?"

"Oh, so the people came up with these ideas?" cut Grantaire. "That certainly clears things up. For a moment, there, I thought you were speaking from your own interests. Now if you want to speak to me, you can do so tomorrow, after my coronation, and not, as I said, here disrespecting my mother's name."

Gillenormand was taken aback, but didn't argue further. "As you wish," he grumbled, giving a low bow before turning to leave. 

"And what about you?" scoffed Grantaire, turning to Valjean, who was still standing silently by the wall. 

The older gentleman approached him carefully, and set a hand on his shoulder. "Your Grace, I'm sorry for your loss. If ever you need anything, you need only ask."

Grantaire managed a nod in response. With that, Valjean left, the grand corridor echoing with his footsteps. 

***

The coronation went as planned--as boring as planned, more likely. Grantaire was crowned before the senate, and had to endure a feast in his name, which was a tense few hours where he sat at the head of the table uncomfortably, trying to stay awake as dignitaries exchanged pleasantries. At the end of the day, he crawled into his old bed in his old chambers and lie awake, wondering what would happen in the days to follow.

***

It was a bright sunny day as the queen's funeral procession made its way through the city, although the air possessed an autumn chill. 

"Make way for the body of Her Majesty, Queen Thenardier, and your new king, His Majesty, Emperor Thenardier!"

Behind the hearse carriage, Grantaire stood on a chariot, dressed in black. A jeweled crown sat atop his head, and with a somber expression on his face, he stood before the people that flanked him on the street to either side. He managed a wave here and there, but as far as he could tell, no one looked happy. 

Javert rode on a horse behind him, watching the scene unfold. In his stomach, Grantaire felt sick with apprehension, but he didn't let it show. From the outside, he appeared calm and collected. 

"Stop the procession!"

At the announcement from the herald, Grantaire turned to see Javert, who had stopped, turning his horse to lean down and listen to a messenger tell him something. By the time he looked up again, there was a fire in his eyes, but this was only the beginning--in the place where Grantaire had previously stood, there was no one--nothing but a crown left on the seat of the chariot.

***

"There you are!" hissed Eponine.

From where Grantaire stood, a cloak covering him as he pushed his way through the crowd, he felt an hand grab him by the shoulder and pull him into an alley.

"Good," she said, once she saw they had yet to be followed or draw attention. "Let's go." 

He nodded, and staying close behind her, followed her to an old building and climbed the stairs. Once they were in the corridor outside a familiar room, Eponine unlocked the door and handed him the key. 

"There," she said. "You're supposed to wait here until one of them comes to get you. I'm just glad you're not hiding out at my house again."

"Thank you, Eponine," breathed Grantaire. "I owe you. And when am I to expect someone?"

"No idea," she answered. "That's all they would tell me. Good luck."

He firmly shook her hand, and exchanged a grateful smile. With that, she left, and he was left alone in the room, furnished with little more than a bed, a desk, and several books. 

Grantaire collapsed on the bed, remembering the last time he was here with Enjolras, how he wished to hear from Enjolras again. 

His prayers seemed to be answered, then, for when he sat up, he noticed the note on the desk. Sure enough, it was from Enjolras, written in a sprawling cursive script.  
  
 _Grantaire,_

 _I hope this note finds you well and you are safely in my flat. I don't know how long you'll have to hide out here, but if all goes well, we shall have someone send for you by nightfall. Feel free to take anything from my wardrobe so as to blend in better on the street.  
  
_ _Yours,  
_ _Enjolras  
  
_ _P.S._  
 _If something truly awful has happened and we don't see each other again--never mind. I won't stoop to your pessimism. But regardless, please know that, well, I love you, and I really hope we can meet again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there was no way I was going to end this story in one chapter. So, I'll be back next week with the rest. Thanks for reading so far!!


	16. The Thrilling Conclusion, Pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FULL DISCLOSURE: Yeah, so, it's going to take a couple more chapters for this plot to be resolved...

"Now!"

Feuilly let out a call, and suddenly, the street was flooded by the crowd, mostly members of the People's Crusade and the _Amici Veritatis_. Before the procession had begun, they had crowded around the entrance to the bridge, the one that led across the river to the palace. Now that the procession had made its way deep into the city, only a few mounted imperial guards were left to stand over the entrance. Soon, they were overwhelmed as a number of hands pulled them off their horses and forcibly took away their weapons. Men and women ran up the bridge, some waving flags, others brandishing a number of weapons of their own--Feuilly had seen to it that the smithing guild was well on board with their plans. A few guards manned the towers above the gates, but it had been decades since these walls had seen a proper fight, and they barely had the means to man their positions much less understand what to do once ready to attack. Bahorel managed to pick a few of them off with a shortbow. 

Of course, the palace gates were closed well before the people had reached it. But the people where not without force. A battering ram was lifted over the crowd by a thousand hands, and by the time it reached the door, it only took a handful of strikes to force its way open. 

Once the gates were open, the people flooded inside. Feuilly felt a tapping on his shoulder and looked to see Bahorel, gesturing for him to follow. His heart racing, he followed the trainer up a narrow, spiraling staircase and found himself on top of the battlements, looking out over the vast expanse before him--not the city, but what was up until now, a massive private estate, grounds stretching for miles, a lake and forest, not to mention a town's worth of buildings within. And, at the center, an ornate inner palace, fronted by a large statue of the late queen. 

Feuilly lost words to speak.

Bahorel, beside him, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead," he said. 

Feuilly nodded. To the crowd below him, who stared back in wonder, he cried, "Long live the people!"

The crowd cheered back with an overwhelming energy. 

On his left, Enjolras appeared bearing a flag. "Today," he called, "The monarchy is dead. The palace now belongs to us!"

The crowd continued to cheer, and even more citizens spilled into the space below. 

***

By midday, the palace had been completely overrun. The gates were shut and new citizens' guards posted so that all who wanted to enter, could, unless they were members of the guard or senate. 

Bahorel was tasked with going to the kitchens to see how much food was left, if they were to be sieged for several days. 

"Bahorel!" Gibelotte, the head cook, called upon seeing him descend the stairs. "What the devil is going on outside?"

As far as he could tell, the kitchen was in a state of panic, some servants running to hide under tables, and others stuffing loaves in their shirts, preparing to make their flight. 

"Calm down, everyone!" Bahorel called. "We need to make sure that--" he was cut off by a young man running up the stairs, juggling a hot loaf in his hands. 

"Get back here!" called Gibelotte, and she ran after him. 

Bahorel was at a loss where to go from here, until he heard a familiar voice from above. 

"Bahorel," said Enjolras, coming down the stairs. "Did you need help?"

"Hey, it's you!" cried one of the servants. A girl approached them, pointing. "He's the one that stood up for us!"

A handful of servants cried out in agreement.

"Oh, right," said Bahorel. "Why don't you talk to them, Ultime?"

The joke did little but brush past Enjolras' shoulder as the palace workers crowded around him, and he gathered a resolute expression before speaking to them.

"It may seem frightening what's going on, but what's happening is for good. The palace belongs to the people now, and you're no longer the people who serve the palace. Now, the palace serves you. Anyone who wishes it can cast their apron aside and join us above."

Several workers cheered in delight, ripping the cloth from their necks and gathering to come up the stairs. 

They were met, however, with another crowd of people, some of them already wearing aprons.

"Can I ask what your business is?" said Bahorel.

"We're from the bakers' guild," explained one man. "We've come to see about keeping the people fed?"

A grin spread across Bahorel's face, and Enjolras was equally delighted. 

***

When Enjolras returned to the front gates, he felt excitement as he climbed to the battlements, Bossuet greeted him. 

"Enjolras!" the law student cried with a hearty grin on his face. Setting down his crossbow, he waved him over to where a number of citizens stood guard with ranged weapons. 

"What's the news?" said Enjolras, jogging towards him. He peeked between the fortifications to see where at the opposite end of the bridge, the royal guard had formed a stationary shield wall.

"They retreated about an hour ago," Bossuet replied. "We haven't seen them make a move since."

"Excellent," replied Enjolras. He clapped a hand on Bossuet's shoulder. "We've put up a real fight. Keep up the good work!"

A few of the workers nodded in his direction. 

"Woah!" 

"What?" said Enjolras, leaning towards Bossuet, who was pointing. 

"What do they have there, something on wheels?" Bossuet wondered aloud. He moved aside so that Enjolras could take a look. 

Just as the cannon rolled into view, he heard the sound of gunpowder lighting. 

"Enjolras!"

The next thing he knew, he was on his back, the top of his head dangling precauriously off the inner edge of the battlements, several of the fighters looking over him with concern etched in their faces, namely Bossuet.

"Are you okay? Enjolras, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you stand there, I--"

"It's alright," Enjolras replied, his voice strained. He sat up slowly. "It's not your fault." He looked behind him at the steep drop down to the inner gate. 

"I suppose it could have been much worse," remarked Bossuet. "Can you stand?"

"I think so," said Enjolras, and he made his way to his feet.

"What about your arm?" asked Bossuet, his eyes growing wide at the sight. Enjolras decided not to look. "Can you move it?"

"Yes--OW!" He grimaced in pain. 

"Right," said Bossuet. "I'll get you to Joly right away. Come on."

Enjolras nodded, taking Bossuet's arm. He looked to the rest of the fighters. "Don't worry about me. Keep your eyes on the front lines." One man tipped his hat in response.

As Enjolras and Bossuet descended the stairs, they could hear from above as more shots sounded. 

***

The day grew late as Grantaire waited in Enjolras' flat. After the first hour or so of lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for his heart to return to a normal pace, he sat up slowly, taking in the quiet room. Already, he was bored. 

He peeked out the window onto the street, and as far as he could tell it was largely empty, save for a pedestrian or two ambling up or down the quiet alley. Across the way, an old woman stopped to dig through her satchel for something, and without warning looked up in his direction.

Grantaire quickly drew the drapes again and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, sighing. He didn't need anyone on the street to notice him. For one, he realised, looking down at his clothes, he still looked like an emperor. 

He shed his coat and tunic on the floor rather quickly, and remembering Enjolras' note, began searching through the man's trunk to find something that might suit him. Although he could have kept his chemise, he decided to take it off and put on one of Enjolras'. He might as well, he thought, since it smelled like him. After that, he found a simple tunic and pants that any non-royal, non-upperclass citizen might wear, and he was set, at least so long as anyone noticed the expensive sword he re-attached to his side.

After that, he took up some reading. For the fact of his struggle in obtaining new materials, Enjolras had a surprisingly decent selection. He found the Odyssey, and tried to remember where last he had left off. When was it?

_Right, the night I was almost assassinated--for real--and had to flee the palace._

He lit a candle and began reading as the sky grew dark, trying to ignore the current state of the city and immerse himself in some other story, reading of Odysseus returning home disguised as a beggar.

Grantaire jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. At first, he wondered if it had only been in his head, but then it sounded again, and he scrambled to his feet. 

_Enjolras, it's him, or he's sent someone, that means he's--_

"Hello? Grantaire, are you there?"

The prince felt his heart sink. He considered not answering it, but the other person had already heard him inside, no doubt. He regrettably opened the door. "Marius. What do you want?"

"Oh, erm, hi, Your Majesty," said Marius, standing in the doorway. He gave a quick and definitely unassured smile along with a bow. "Enjolras sent me to come get you."

Grantaire folded his arms. "You? He sent you? And enough with the formalities, Grantaire is fine."

"Sorry," replied Marius. "And was he not supposed to send me? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Grantaire said with a sigh. _If I known he was going to send you, I could have just gone to the palace by myself_ , he thought as he donned a cloak and moved to the corridor to lock the door behind him. "Let's go, then."

***

The sky was dark as the two cloaked men made their way down an alleyway. 

"Nope, wait," said Marius, stopping to check the scrap of paper he had brought which had a rough sketch of a map. 

"Do you even know where we're going?" Grantaire asked, but soon enough--

"Yes! We just turn this way." Marius led them down another street, and they found themselves at the water front. 

"We're taking a boat?" Grantaire asked as his accomplice uncovered a small vessel. 

"Yes," said Marius. "To a secret passage? Enjolras said you would know about it."

Grantaire nodded. "Help me lift this into the water."

They managed to bring the craft over the side of the dock and get both of them in without tipping it or falling in, which Grantaire figured was a great success. At least until he saw a few hooded figures approaching from the distance. 

"Fuck, we need to get out of here," said Grantaire. With no other place to go, he hopped in the boat, which splashed side to side underneath his weight. Marius, on the other hand, just stood on the dock, mouth gaping as he didn't seem to have anywhere to hide--

"Excuse me!" a man called in the distance. Grantaire froze, trying his best to duck his head under the side of the boat. 

"Erm, hello?" Marius called back, his voice echoing across the waterfront. Grantaire, meanwhile, shook his head slowly, a hand covering his face. 

"Are you headed to the palace?" the voice was closer. 

"S-sort of," Marius stuttered. 

Grantaire heard the three pairs of footsteps approach Marius. 

"So you're with the resistance," said another voice. 

_Please, please tell them anything but 'yes,'_ Grantaire thought. 

"Yes," Marius' cheerful voice rang back. 

"Good," said the first voice. "We're trying to get in as well, but the bridge is crawling with royal guards."

_Wait_ , thought Grantaire. _I know that voice. It's--_

"Courfeyrac!" Marius exclaimed with pleasant surprise. Grantaire lifted his head from the railing of the boat. 

"Marius! What are you doing here?" beamed the student, holding a lantern in one hand. Beside him, Combeferre and Jehan removed their hoods. "And who's your friend? Oh!"

"It seems your friend is the actual emperor," remarked Combeferre."

"Good evening," said Grantaire, managing a weak smile and a wave. 

"Hello, R," replied Courfeyrac. "Lovely to see you as well."

"How fortunate that fate should have all us meet here," said Jehan with a smile. "Good to see the both of you."

"We came as soon as we could," Courfeyrac. "The whole city is buzzing. Rumour has it that the rest of the Amici have taken residence in the palace. Is there a way to get inside?"

R gave a grin. "Secret passage. Come with us."

The five of them climbed into the boat, just managing to fit all of them without sinking. Courfeyrac extinguished his lantern so as to shroud their passage in a stealthy darkness. Now all that was left was to row. 

"How did you ever get involved in this, Marius?" Grantaire asked quietly. 

"Oh, I've been going to the Amici meetings for some time," Marius answered in his usual cheerful tone. "Courfeyrac and I became friends at school, and when he found out my grandfather is one of the consuls, he invited me. I've been going ever since."

"Well," interjected Courfeyrac, "he shared with me a few of his political ideas, and I thought it might be as well that he might join."

"I see," remarked Grantaire. "But you weren't there when I was?"

"When you were--" Marius stopped his oar for a moment, lost in thought. "Oh, I was gone for a couple weeks to visit my aunt. When I came back, no one was meeting in the Musain anymore?" He sounded perplexed. Then, he continued rowing. "Anyway. Bossuet and I have a class together, so I was able to find out from him that we meet in the catacombs now."

"I see."

"The catacombs?" replied Courfeyrac. "Is that where they started meeting after the Musain was raided?"

"Sounds exciting. Cryptic," said Jehan.

"Yes, wait..." said Marius, turning to Grantaire. "Forgive me, I've just realised now, you were the prince that was pretending to be a servant."

Grantaire lifted an eyebrow. "Yes."

Someone laughed. It was either Combeferre or Courfeyrac. 

"Sorry," said Marius with an apologetic tone. "Of all the times I've seen you at court, I never knew you were a prince until recently. And the king, now, I suppose. I always saw you around with Javert, I guess I thought you were his son or something."

Grantaire was stunned. "Weird," he concluded quietly.

"This is very familiar," said Courfeyrac. "I'd say we're about the place where we were when we..." His voice grew silent with the realisation.

"When we sent Enjolras on that mission," said Combeferre, answering him. "We docked nearby and he scaled into that window." 

"Yes," said Grantaire, slowing the boat as they reached the canal. "There's a reason for that. This way."

The boat made its way underneath the raised metal gate, and in the dark tunnel, Grantaire stepped off first, using muscle memory to find the door. 

"It's locked."

"That's strange," said Marius, coming up behind him. "It wasn't locked when I came out this way." The other three followed behind him. 

"Damn, what are we going to do?" whispered Grantaire, but without warning, Marius began knocking on the door. 

"Hello?!" he called. "Is anyone up there?"

"Shhh!" 

Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre hushed him all at once, but it was too late. The sound of footsteps echoed from the other side of door, and they all froze. When Grantaire heard the mechanism turning, his hands touched the hilt of his sword, ready to defend himself if need be. 

Slowly, the door creaked open, and as a bright candlelight shined in their eyes, he lowered his guard at the sight of a young woman. He wasn't expecting what happened next, however. 

"Marius!" The young woman gleefully threw her arms around him. 

Marius looked absolutely thrilled, hugging her back, and then sharing an unnecessarily obvious kiss. "Cosette! It's so good to see you again."

Now Grantaire remembered where he had seen her. She had previously been a personal servant to the queen, which he knew was not a fun task. She seemed to be doing well for herself now, however. 

"Yes," she said, positively beaming. "I heard you came with the others, but they said you already left. I was tasked with waiting for your return."

"Yes," repeated Marius, a wide grin plastered on his face. His gaze drifted over to Grantaire, and the others, who he suddenly just remember existed. "Oh, allow me to introduce. Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Jehan, this is Cosette. Oh! Grantaire, have you met?"

"I believe we have," replied Grantaire. 

"It's an honour to meet you, sir," said Cosette, giving a quick curtsy. "I was told you don't like going by 'Your Grace', and I hope that's true. If not, allow me to apologise."

Grantaire smiled at that, feeling a sense of relief. "Grantaire is fine. Or, 'R', even."

"R, then," said Cosette with a polite smile. "The others are upstairs. Follow me."

Grantaire let the others go first, staying to lock the door before following behind them.

***

"Enjolras, you need to rest."

Bahorel's voice was tired as he admonished Enjolras, who was still looking over a map of the fortress he had brought to the dinner table where he sat with Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet. His arm was in a sling, but he was otherwise in good health. Rubbing his temple slightly, Enjolras sat up, finally dropping his hand to drink from a glass of wine. 

Grantaire's suite was under new management, all the furniture rearranged, paintings taken down. In their place a series of notes, maps, and documents were tacked up; what once was the prince's private dining room was now the Amici's war room. In the next room over, the bedroom had similarly been dismantled. A few more beds had been crammed in, effectively making a sort of dormitory for the students. 

Enjolras didn't want to think about sleep right now. The whole fate of the empire rested in their hands. The attacks from the royal guard had just seemed to cease for the night, and he didn't want to admit it, but Bahorel was right. He needed rest. 

Just then, from the other room, he heard the voice of Cosette, who had for some reason, volunteered to wait for Marius' return. Enjolras sat up, waiting to hear more, and indeed, the sounds of multiple voices followed. He stood as Cosette and Marius entered the room, and behind them were--

"Combeferre!" said Enjolras with pleasant surprise. "Courfeyrac! You made it!" he said, gratefully accepting Courfeyrac's arm around his shoulder and a solid handshake from Combeferre. 

"We came as soon as we could," his friend replied. "Good to see you in one piece, Enjolras."

"Yes," said Courfeyrac with a grin. "So your trip sailing up the coast went alright, then?" 

Enjolras' face fell. "Well, not exactly...I'll tell you later." He spotted Jehan coming behind them. 

"Enjolras!" called the poet in good spirits. 

"Good to see you," said Enjolras, shaking their hand. And then, he spotted him.

Grantaire was rather quiet than usual, his eyes wandering about the room. But when they landed on Enjolras. The world seemed to go silent, and Enjolras made his way towards him, taking him in an embrace. 

"You're hurt," said the prince. 

Enjolras nodded. "It's nothing." 

And then, when their eyes met, he almost sensed it--what was the point, really, if their friends already knew they were together? Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. 

Grantaire seemed surprised for a second, but soon kissed him back in eager response, and Enjolras felt the prince's fingers tenderly comb through the hair on the back of his head. 

When they were finished, it seemed that the room had been silent the entire time, because now, their friends were erupting in applause, followed by a wolf whistle from Courfeyrac, and then an even louder wolf whistle from Bahorel. 

"Did I miss something?" said Marius.

That garnered a few laughs from around the room, and Cosette whispered something in Marius' ear, causing him to blush. 

"Well," said Enjolras, finally addressing his friends as a leader, "Feuilly's associates have taken watch over the front gate for the time being. Bossuet, can you take Combeferre to Joly in the great hall? We've repurposed it to a hospital," he explained. "As for the rest of us, I believe we should all get some rest."

Everyone was in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my lovelies, it's going to take a liiiittle longer to get all of the empire's problems sorted. And then an epilogue? I should stop promising things, lol. I heard dannypuro just posted the conclusion to one of their longer works so you can read that in the meantime?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, see you next week!


	17. The Thrilling Conclusion, Pt. III

When Enjolras awoke, the world was quiet. For a moment, he could have easily forgotten where he was, what was going on for the pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around him. He opened his eyes to see Grantaire, and he was pleased. Taking a look around the room, however, at the mess of empty beds and and supplies thrown about, he instantly remembered the citizens' occupation of the palace. Enjolras sat right up. 

"Grantaire," he said, his injured arm falling against his chest in its sling. "Where did everyone go? Why didn't you wake me?"

"Shh," Grantaire cooed, gently stroking Enjolras' shoulder, which he hated to admit was very calming. "They didn't want to wake you. You need rest and...I don't want to see you get hurt again."

"Grantaire," Enjolras replied defiantly. "I don't need you to look after me."

"I know," said the prince with a gentle smile. "And I know it well by now that if you have your heart set on something, there's no keeping you from it. If you want to join them, I believe the Amici are at the front gate. There were no attacks overnight."

Enjolras grew silent at that. He didn't want to admit it, all the times he had rushed into something with little regard for his own safety. He considered Grantaire's offer to join his friends, but instead lied back down, pressing against the warmth of the other man's body.

"Okay, then," said Grantaire with an amused laugh. He gave Enjolras' hand a squeeze. 

"Hello? May I come in?"

The sound of Cosette's voice echoed from across the chamber. The prince glanced down at Enjolras, checking that there was no objection, and then called, "It's alright, Cosette, you can come in."

The young woman made her way into the room, approaching the bed with no hint of surprise on her face. "Good morning," she said. "Did you two sleep well?"

"I think so," said Grantaire. "Is there news from the front?"

"Yes," she replied. "They're asking for you, R. Javert was caught trying to infiltrate the palace."

"Really," replied Grantaire with interest. Enjolras was trying to listen, but Grantaire was running a hand along Enjolras' arm, and it was much too soothing. "How did he manage that?" 

"He tried to enter the palace disguised as a normal citizen. Of course, he was instantly recognised by about half a dozen servants. They have him tied to a post now; they're wondering if you want to come say a few words."

"A few words before...?"

Cosette's voice seemed to falter a bit as she responded, "Yes, as far as I know, they plan to kill him."

Enjolras felt Grantaire's hand stop on his arm. 

"You know," Cosette's continued quietly. "I have to tell you something. Because of what Enjolras was saying yesterday, that you think Javert may have poisoned the queen?"

Enjolras opened the eyes at the sound of his name. He sat up slowly, listening to what she might say. 

"Yes," replied Grantaire. "What about it?"

Cosette furrowed her brow, which he knew meant she was serious. As a palace servant, and one to the queen no less, she had to be an expert about always keeping a pleasant manner. "I saw him do it."

"Do what?" asked Grantaire. His eyes widened. "You saw Javert--"

"Slip poison in her tea, yes," replied Cosette. "I didn't know that's what it was. She had a bit of a cold, so I thought maybe it was medicine. I didn't think--and I would have thought it was only medicine if you hadn't said that."

Grantaire was speechless.   
  
"I'll tell them you'll be out in a few minutes," said Cosette. "is that enough?"

Grantare managed a nod. She left, and that left the two of them alone. 

"What are you thinking?" Enjolras asked. "I don't agree with most of the things he's done, but...I know how he essentially raised you. Do you want him dead?"

"I don't know," said Grantaire, shaking his head. "I don't know."

"I can talk to them," said Enjolras. 

Grantaire nodded. "But what will you tell them?"

Enjolras pulled the covers back, and began slipping on his boots over his trousers. "It's up to the people. But I might be able to give them options."

***

The sky was perfectly clear. Behind the closed palace gates, people crowded around a platform where an old man was tied with his back against a wooden post. The Amici stood at one end of the platform, chatting amongst themselves. 

"It's been some time since we've heard from them," said Combeferre. "I don't think the crowd will want to wait any longer."

This was punctuated by the sound of someone throwing a stone at Javert, narrowly missing him and ricocheting off the plank floor. 

Feuilly nodded, placing a hand on Combeferre's shoulder. He moved towards the center of the platform, raising his arms. 

"People, people, settle down. Enough throwing stones." The crowd calmed at that, somewhat. "We are preparing to take a vote on how the Royal Officer and Steward, Javert, should answer for his crimes against the people."

Some members of the crowd cheered, some joyful and others angry. The gray haired man winced at their response. 

"Wait!" 

Feuilly looked down to see Grantaire approaching, followed by Enjolras. He had on his red coat, which he had somehow managed to get over his cast and fit into his sling. His usual resolute, determined expression was as strong as ever, despite his injury.

"Our leader Enjolras has something to say," announced Feuilly, and the crowd grew more silent as he, along with the aid of the prince, helped Enjolras climb onto the platform. Unlike the rest of the Amici, Grantaire remained on the ground in front of the platform. The citizens beside him hardly noticed him in his plain clothes. 

"My fellow citizens," Enjolras called out, and a complete hush fell over the crowd. "As Feuilly said, before you sits the man who many of you may recognise as the palace steward, among other things."

Enjolras was captivating as he speak, the people in the crowd hanging off of his words with utter respect. The broken arm only seemed to make him sympathetic. 

"He has committed many crimes, the greatest of which being a lack of concern for the workers of the palace, who he allowed to work long hours under unsafe conditions."

Feuilly listened carefully, although out of the corner of his eye he noticed a strange bird flying overhead. A few other members of the crowd must have seen it too, because they also looked up. And in the distance, he swore he could hear a faint, otherworldly music playing. 

"But I have another story to tell," announced Enjolras. "This man is a champion of the revolution."

That caught them off guard, especially Javert, who seemed to replace the stoic look in his eyes with one of confusion.

"Yes, you heard right," replied Enjolras. "This man is a champion for our rights. Because the queen did not die of illness on its own. This man poisoned her, thus furthering our cause."

Several gasps echoed throughout the crowd, a few murmurs exchanged. 

"That's right," said Enjolras. "I have confirmed from two sources that he slipped poison in her tea. Javert, will you take ownership of these actions?"

Javert's eyes widened to an utterly fearful expression, although he remained silent. The crowd only became more unruly. 

"Attention, attention!" said Enjolras, and the crowd grew quiet at his request. "I see this man has two options. He can either admit that his killing the queen was for the good of the cause, and swear loyalty to our resistance, or he will answer for his crimes in blood. What say you, the people?"

There was no hesitation. An overwhelming number of cries sounded from among the crowd. 

"The people have spoken," replied Enjolras, drawing a blade from his waist. Pointing it at the ropes containing Javert's chest, he continued, "You have two options, Javert. Swear your loyalty and I will cut your ropes. Speak out against the people and I will cut your throat."

Javert's gaze rested upon the dagger, his face somewhere between blank and sorrowful. 

He closed his eyes, and the crowd grew silent, waiting for his response. Javert opened them, and a fire poured out of him, declaring,  
  
"Death to all traitors of the crown! Grantaire is the true king!"  
  



	18. Javert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure how this happened but here it is, the last chapter, right in time for the US election. Fun! Anyway, I will say I went kind of overboard with the whole backstory erm...hope you like it

"Death to all traitors of the crown! Grantaire is the true king!"

Murmurs broke out among the crowd as Javert cried out the words. Enjolras froze his eyes wide with surprise.

In a moment of panic, he glanced around the crowd. _This wasn't supposed to happen. Would he really be so daft as to refuse the offer?_ Enjolras had met Javert on occasion, and knew from Grantaire's mention that he was stubborn, but this--the man was too stubborn for his own good. 

But now, he had made his bed, and the people wanted blood. Slowly, Enjolras closed his eyes, preparing for what he had to do. With his good arm, he lifted the dagger.

He could see the deepset anger in Javert's eyes, but also, a look of utter fatigue. Enjolras tried to ignore the fact that his arm was shaking slightly as he held the knife up to the man's throat--

"Enjolras."

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to Combeferre, his arm dropping without much thought. The other student beckoned towards the amici, who were huddled, looking anxious for a discussion. 

***

As Enjolras walked away, Grantaire looked to Javert, who had turned his gaze down to the floor. The prince began to climb onto the platform.

The woman next to him began to protest, but her mouth fell open as soon as she recognised him. "It's him, it's the king!"

Somehow, the crowd fell silent. The amici turned their heads toward him, Enjolras the last of them to notice as Grantaire knelt down to the eye level of his father. 

"Do you see what you've gotten yourself into?" Grantaire said calmly, quietly as Javert slowly looked up at him. 

"Grantaire," Javert exhaled. "I'm only doing what's best for you."

"You're not listening." 

"You can't imagine what I've been through," said Javert. 

***

Javert had been born in a prison. 

His parents were what he would now have considered "low-life criminal scum," but otherwise. His mother was a fortune teller and his father was a former con artist, sentenced to life in prison. When he was still quite young, his mother became very ill. When a friend of a friend offered to let him work as a servant at the palace, at the time it seemed like the ideal situation--he would be given meals and a safe place to sleep (the palace, no less), and his mother wouldn't have to worry about him. He didn't know any better, that a child should have to work to earn his keep.

At first, he worked in the kitchens. The hours were long, and the servants were barely fed enough, even though they spent their days watching extravagant meals be carried upstairs for the royal family's dinner. One day, he caught his good friend, Eugene, stealing extra rations. Javert reported him immediately. The steward, Gisquet, placed a hand on his shoulder, looking quite pleased for someone who never smiled. From there, Javert was promoted to a page. He no longer had to clean dishes and scrub floors, but instead ran messages for the steward, and assisted with any other tasks that Gisquet needed done around the palace. 

It was during his time serving the royal family that he met the young princess, only one or two years younger than himself. There were few times, if at all, where he was ever left alone in the same room with her, unless to bring her a message that her father expected her in the throne room. But he watched her grow up. 

One day, shortly after she had turned eighteen, he came to bring a note to her chambers, and he found her sitting alone, sobbing. 

He froze, unsure what to do. He was still standing several feet away. 

"Oh," she said, looking up. "Just leave it there," she said, gesturing for him to set the note on the table beside her. "I can't bear to hear another word from him."

He did as he was told, but just as he was about to leave, she said, "Won't you sit down?"

Javert didn't refuse. He took the chair opposite the end table. 

"Oh, Ducky," she sighed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She had given him that nickname some time ago, ever since the time she teased him for following Gisquet around like ducklings following their mother on the palace lawn. "What am I going to do? You've seen the man my father wants me to marry. He's so old!"

He had encountered Sir Thenardier before, and he didn't seem very pleasant, at least he came across to Javert. He was nearly twenty years her senior, a duke from a neighboring province who had gambled away much of his family's fortune. The marriage was worth a good portion of land that would soon belong to the empire if the foreign duke agreed on the offer, and he had agreed.

"He is old," said Javert, finally. His voice was quiet, he didn't want anyone walking down the corridor to hear that he was denouncing a future member of the royal family. But the princess was sitting right in front of him, and how could he disagree with her? Thenardier was sleazy, and she deserved better than him. 

The princess smiled. "Yes." She leaned in to whisper, "That hair on his head is as fake as his smile."

Javert gave a laugh, quickly covering his mouth and regaining his composure soon after. 

The princess was silent for a moment, and then a poised smile formed on her face. "Could you close the door for a moment?"

Javert rose. "Of course, Your Grace. I'll leave you--"

"No," she said. "Close the door and stay."

Javert hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. Once the deed was done, he returned to where he had been sitting. 

"Is it hard work, working around the palace?" she asked. 

"Not very," he replied. "It's demanding, certainly, but I get to see everything that goes on. Gisquet has been letting me learn bookkeeping."

"Is that so?" she replied, leaning in with interest. 

"Yes," he replied. "I think perhaps someday I might be a steward--"

He was cut off as she leaned in and kissed him. 

For the most part, he was caught completely off guard. Javert put his hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her away.

"Your Grace," he said. "I can't. We can't."

"And why not?" she answered.

He paused in thought. No one was expecting him anywhere for a few hours; now that Javert had earned Gisquet's loyalty, he had more freedom. As he looked upon the princess, he thought her very pretty. 

"You're to be married soon," he said. "I'm sure Thenardier expects his bride to be a virgin."

"Pah!" she replied, flicking a wrist. "Sir Thenardier is certainly not a virgin; and I don't know why he should expect his bride to be. And besides, I'm not a virgin," she added with a giggle. 

Javert didn't have anything else to say. After another silence, she leaned in, and he didn't stop her, instead wrapping his arms around her waist as he kissed her in return. 

***

The princess married, and she gained the title of Duchess Thenardier. It seemed that despite the situation, she got along with her new husband, and she didn't call on Javert again. He wasn't sure he should feel upset at that or not. It was for the best, he decided, and this way everything was less confusing. He could focus on his palace duties. 

Everything changed when the king passed. 

The king had been traveling in the provinces when a foreign guard attacked. A mistake had been made; he was disguised in common clothes to rally the troops, and when they were attacked, the foreign soldiers didn't recognise him. The news got around soon enough, and the palace was scrambling to put things in order. Duchess Thenardier found out soon enough--she was no longer to be duchess, but her husband was to be crowned king, and she queen. 

On the evening after her coronation, Javert had been in his office, filling some paperwork when one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting came to him, saying she had requested him immediately in her chambers. 

He was hesitant to enter, wondering what troubles he might face if he found her husband there. But the man was mysteriously absent, only Queen Thenardier in her nightclothes with hairs flying out of her usually neatly tucked hairstyle. This time, he knew to close the door first. 

"Javert, I'm so glad you're here," she breathed, placing a hand on his arm. "I need you to do something for me."

Javert straightened his posture, expressing an utmost sense of duty when he replied, "Tell me what you need, Your Grace."

She smiled, but this was soon erased by lines of worry. From the neckline of her dress she pulled out a little slip of paper and handed it to him. "Take this. Don't let anyone see it. I've spoken with a doctor who says it can stop me from having children, as long as I keep taking it. You have to get it for me."

He took the paper, inspecting the writing on it, the name of some herb. Looking up at her slowly, he asked, "Is this something His Majesty shouldn't know about?"

The queen collapsed on a chair and buried her face into her arms. "Oh, Ducky, he's horrible. I don't want anything to do with him, much less bear his children. Tell me you find a way to get this to me, please," she pleaded. "You're the only one I can trust."

Javert thought to just hours earlier, when he saw her at the coronation feast. The way she smiled at her newly crowned husband, laughed at his jokes. But who was he to deny her now? He slipped the note resolutely into his breast pocket. "I'll do what I can, Your Grace."

To his surprise, she grasped his hand in both of hers, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Ducky. I'll never be able to replay you."

Javert just nodded, unsure what else to say. Not another word passed between them, and he left the room. 

***

The next day, Javert traveled into the city to find an apothecary. After procuring the herb, he found a way to regularly give it to the queen in a discreet manner: he slipped it into her morning tea, which he brought to her room every morning with the rest of her correspondence. They continued like this for several years with no one any wiser.

King Thenardier was assassinated. By whom, no one could say. Suffice to say he had many enemies, and anyone could have paid the marksman that, during one of his usual vapid, self-congratulatory public speeches, pierced an arrow into his skull from a great distance. 

The morning before the funeral, Javert came to the queen to bring her usual tea and papers. As she glanced up from her desk, her hair undone and a velvet robe draped over her nightgown, she glanced up at him quietly with a grave expression. 

"I have brought your usual, Your Grace," he said. Soon it would be _Your Majesty_. She was already queen, but tomorrow she would be crowned ruler of an empire. 

She stared at the steaming cup as he set it on her desk. "Is this your tea?" she said flatly. 

"--Y-yes," Javert stammered. "I wasn't sure, so I made it like I always do." 

"I won't be needing it that way anymore," she replied, taking the papers and leafing through them. "You can bring me a regular cup of tea from now on."

"Understood, Your Grace. I'll fetch you another right away--"

"Wait!" she cried, and he turned back towards her, startled but listening intently. 

"Yes, Your Grace?"

She thought for a moment, then frowned. "Yes, actually. Bring me another cup of tea. And while you're out, let the court know that I won't be attending the funeral today. I prefer to grieve alone in my chambers."

"If you wish it, Your Grace," answered Javert. "I'll ask that your meals be brought to you."

A gentle smile came across her face. "Yes. You may go now."

Javert nodded. 

***

It was a difficult time having to pass the news that the queen wouldn't be attending her own husband's funeral, but no one could outright deny her. She was the queen, after all. Javert almost cursed himself when he remembered he would get her another cup of tea, and was trying not to spill as he carried the tray back to her chambers. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

Slowly, he entered the room, carefully closing the door behind him. "Your Grace?" he called, walking further into the bedroom where the queen's study was adjacent. "I have your tea--"

He spilled it entirely when he caught sight of her. 

"Hello, Javert," said the queen, standing several feet away from him, completely naked. "I've missed you."

***

Neither of them left the room that day. Conveniently, the queen's meals were brought to her chambers, although Javert had to hide so the servants wouldn't catch them together. When they were done fucking, there was time for them to lay in bed together, for her to cry quietly into his arms. Javert had no idea what else to do in this case, so he just lie still, keeping his arms around her, and this seemed to console her enough. 

"I'm all alone," she said, her eyes closed. "I have to run an empire, and you're all I have."

***

The fate of the empire passed into the queen's hands. There was debate in the senate whether she should be allowed to rule, with no male heirs present, but she was, in fact, the surviving member of the royal family. And Queen Thenardier, it seemed, was a natural at winning over foreign dignitaries, often acting with them in a flirtatious manner. When Javert witnessed her acting this way at high banquets, he knew he shouldn't feel uncomfortable by it, that she was the queen and she could do what she wanted. And yet, he still found himself being called to her bedchambers enough times. 

One morning, as he set her usual tea beside her, he watched as she took one whiff of it, and promptly rolled her eyes and threw up on the floor.

"Your Majesty!" said Javert, rushing to her side. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I think I may be ill," she said, rubbing her temples. "I need some time to recuperate."

"I'll send the royal physician right away," he answered standing up again. He frowned. "I don't think they're cooking meat properly in the kitchens. Do you think it's something you ate?"

"You know full well what it is," she answered without looking him in the eyes. 

Javert was utterly silent, too afraid to confirm the first thing that came to his mind. After a moment, he nodded. "I'll send for the physician. He knows how to be discreet."

***  
After that, Queen Thenardier (she still kept her last name) took a trip to a small island off the coast of one of the provinces, "for her health." Javert didn't ask to accompany her. He thought it shouldn't be any of his business, that he was a mere servant and she a queen, but a small part of him wanted to be there. 

The senate went into a recess under the impression that she would be well in a month. After a month passed, news was sent from the island that she was still ill. This continued for some time, the senate becoming restless until finally a year had passed and she returned, looking invigorated as she took to the throne. 

There were rumours around the palace about the child she brought with her--her late husband Thenardier's nephew. Almost no one, as far as Javert could tell, believed this. Although it was clear that the child had been born too far after the death of Thenardier, the host of generals, ambassadors, even a few foreign kings the queen had hosted during her time as ruler left for plenty of speculation. And no one suspected Javert. 

When Javert saw the child for the first time, he couldn't help but quietly hide this strange feeling--joy? When the boy's eyes met his, and he could see the striking resemblance. 

Grantaire. A made up name to cover up the child's heritage. But Javert knew the truth, he was looking at someone with both his own blood and a royal's. 

***

Years passed. The queen stopped seeing him, and she barely saw her own son. Javert did what he could to look after him, feeling completely at a loss as to how to take care of a child. Structure and discipline were all he knew. That, and once he became steward, he had the rest of the palace to run. 

Grantaire meant everything to him. When the time came that the queen publicly announced him as her son, he was ecstatic. He, Javert, who was born in a prison, his son would someday be king.

The morning Grantaire disappeared, Javert came to the queen immediately. 

"Do you know anything about this?"

"I knew this would be hard for you." She didn't turn towards him, remaining facing the window that looked out on the palace gardens. "You always had a soft spot for him."

"What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

Her voice was cold. "I want you to organise a search party. When you find him, bring him back so he can be executed, and we can rid ourselves of this messy piece of our past."

Javert was speechless. He knew he couldn't openly disagree with her. "I-I'll find him, Your Majesty," he answered. He didn't say anything more, never addressing the agreement that he would bring Grantaire to her to be executed. 

That's why Javert slipped poison into the queen's tea. It was so simple really. She had come down with a cold, and he stopped Cosette in the corridor, saying he might as well bring her the tea as he had done many times before. 

But seeing the queen lying in bed, her hair loose about her nightgown, he knew he couldn't do it. He quite literally froze a few feet from her bed, still holding the tray. 

"Javert, is that you?" she called, eyes closed as she clutched a damp cloth to her brow.

"Yes," he called. 

She sat up slowly and moved her feet, patting the space at the foot of her bed. "Come here, Ducky."

He couldn't refuse. Unsure what else to do with the tray, he kept it in his lap (sternly gripping it with both hands). 

"What news do you have?" she asked gently. "Did you find Grantaire?"

"No," he answered. 

"Oh," she replied, sounding vaguely disappointed. "Well, it's alright. I never really cared for him, anyway. Oh," she said again, lifting a hand. "Have you brought me my tea?"

Javert looked her in the eye for a moment, and then handed her the tray. 

***

"I killed your mother," said Javert. He told this to Grantaire, but closer members of the crowd could hear. 

"And you're not listening," said Grantaire. "I don't want to live with an unjust system, even if it means I'm not in power. And the odds were always stacked against you. You were so focused on your own survival that you were forced to ignore how much the system has hurt you."

Javert was silent, but he didn't look pleased. 

Enjolras appeared at Grantaire's side. "We've decided you'll face a fair trial of all your crimes before any execution will take place." He turned towards the crowd. "We are judges, not assassins! Well," he reasoned. "No longer are we assassins! Everyone deserves a fair trial, same as any of you should be afforded!"

"What about the king?" someone called from the crowd. 

Enjolras looked to Grantaire, unsure what to expect. The royal strode across the platform, speaking to the people. "Good day, everyone, you might notice that my crown is missing, and I'm not wearing any clothing to indicate a higher status. That's because, despite my royal blood, I'm one of you. I formally renounce my right to the throne, and I will work with advocates to form a new government that benefits the people!" 

Voices rose in the crowd, some onlookers hesitant to believe him, others ready to cheer. Enjolras looked to him, and their eyes met. Without hesitation, Grantaire smiled and took Enjolras' hand. He felt Enjolras give it a squeeze, and a smile formed across the other man's lips as he faced the crowd. 

Then, Enjolras rose their arms together, and the crowd burst into cheers as they held their hands high, still clasped together tightly.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone :) I hope you're not too sad to see it end but. If you've read any of my other works you probably know I like writing epilogues, and extended epilogues, and more epilogue than anyone asked for...I can't promise I'll have it out soon, but be on the lookout.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [preliminary-gayeties](https://preliminary-gayeties.tumblr.com/)


End file.
